


Strawberry Milkshake

by SilenceoftheLlamas



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Cockwarming, Collars, Deepthroating, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Sounding, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas
Summary: First Aid finds himself captive in the kindest hostage situation he's ever encountered.Tags to be updated as story progresses
Relationships: First Aid/Vortex
Comments: 23
Kudos: 184
Collections: Loose Shanix





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> People may know me as a Jazz/Prowl girl however a part of my heart is also dedicated to First Aid/Vortex and I’m still not entirely sure what to do with this information but it just ticks a lot of my boxes. Finally wrote something for it, surprised it took me so long, ha! Similarly to Oreo Milkshake, this is totally self indulgent, please don't take anything too seriously. I'm here for a good time not a long time. Unbeta'd, like everything I do. Enjoooy~

It had been such a lovely morning, First Aid couldn’t help but think as he awkwardly squirmed under the intense gaze of the mech stood in front of him.

His day had started off normally enough – he was stationed at an Autobot outpost on the edge of a neutral territory. Rumours had been flying around of an undiscovered energon deposit beneath the surface there, which made it a prime location to set up shop and investigate. Their heavy hitters – the ones who could dig, and lug the heavy materials out from the crust and to the surface in their pursuit of the energon – had just set off as he began his shift in the medical bay. He was only there just in case there was a little accident – there wasn’t meant to be any danger. As far as they knew, the Decepticons had _no idea_ they were there. Sure, they had one or two on guard duty, and they had non-sentient drones out patrolling the area, but they didn’t actually _expect_ anything.

Until Bruticus had, quite literally, dropped out of the sky.

“Well, well, well.” A voice had said from behind him while he desperately tried to hide his lone patient – a bad slip, knocked out. First Aid had put him under manual sedation until his self repair had had more time to rewire his circuits, so he was of no help at all. He’d slowly turned to look behind him, and felt his tanks drop down to the floor.

Big, tall, imposing looking, _and_ a helicopter to boot. In any other circumstances, he’d be wondering his chances of being shot down – just his type. But this particular helicopter? Bright purple badge, blood red visor, and slate grey plating.

Vortex. _The_ interrogator. He’d had to help Ratchet fix up his victims before – the ones who made it back out alive – and he couldn’t help but mentally go through a list of the equipment he’d need to repair himself after Vortex was done with him.

“Lookie what we have here.” Vortex had continued, First Aid rooted to the spot in fright. Vortex pushed off from where he’d been leaning on the door frame, slowly sauntering into the room as he casually observed it. “Cute place you got here.”

“If it’s energon you want there’s a store down the hall.” First Aid hoped Vortex didn’t notice the tremble in his voice. “I’m a medic, and my patient is unconscious. We’re of no harm to you.”

Vortex’s visor flashed. “Ho? Medic? Really?” He strode forwards and grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer to get a better look. Leaning forwards, he closely inspected him, almost visor to visor. First Aid felt his plating crawl, and wanted nothing more than to run away screaming, but pit if Vortex didn’t have an impressive grip!

“Oh! You’re that little red one! Aahh, what’s your name, what’s your name!” Vortex tapped his forehead with his free hand, claws clinking on his armour. “The cute little ambulance.”

“How about a trade? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” First aid stalled, desperately trying to buy more time. For what, he didn’t know – maybe he half expected Primus himself to descend and save him. Maybe he hoped that the mech down in the mines would somehow know that they were being attacked. _Something_ would happen to save him. _Anything_.

“Ho?” Vortex’s visor flashed dangerously. “You don’t know who I am? That’s why you’re being so brave.” He tugged First Aid closer still, hand tightly gripping his chin, leaving light scratches on the metal. “You, little mouse, can call me _Sir_.”

_Oh_. First Aid was grateful for his visor and face plate to hide his grimace. “Sir? Then I am Little Mouse.”

Vortex was extremely still for a moment, and First Aid had a horrid, _horrid_ feeling that he had brilliantly screwed up and that he was _so so dead oh Primus why_ -

but then Vortex had _laughed_ , head thrown back, helicopter blades clicking together on his back.

“Oh, I like you!” Vortex had exclaimed. “I’m keeping you.” And with that, he strode from the medbay, unceremoniously dragging First Aid along behind him. “Yo, Onslaught!” He yelled out. There was a distant booming voice answering back, and First Aid felt an uneasy sense of trepidation as Vortex continued. “I found us a medic!”

And that was how First Aid had ended up in a Decepticon outpost in the middle of the badlands with absolutely zero form of communications with his gestalt team, nor even the Autobots in general. The only viable communication channel in the entire outpost was one single computer down in the basement, and only Onslaught had access. Vortex had great joy as he told him that on their journey over.

Onslaught was silent as he observed him, looming over him. First Aid fought the urge to curl up into a ball – that would only cement himself as a target. He had to be strong.

He suddenly grunted with a slight nod, and left. First Aid watched him leave in bewilderment. That… that was _it_? A one sided staring competition?!

But now that he was gone, First Aid felt brave enough to actually observe the room he was in. Initially, Vortex had dragged him in and shoved him onto the sofa he was currently sat on, Onslaught following closely behind. Vortex had then left, leaving him alone with Onslaught and his previous bravery had deserted him.

It was… small. There was just one light – a dim one hanging by a thin cable to the ceiling. In the far left corner was a small grotty looking basin and a cracked mirror above it, and to the right, what _looked_ like might be a berth, if one were trying to draw one from memory after only seeing it once.

It suddenly dawned upon him that this may be where he’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

_Ah_.

There wasn’t a window, and there was no way he could see to turn off the light. He was totally reliant on his internal clock to keep his day and night cycles in check, but with the ever-present light, that may be… _difficult_.

A typical torture technique. First Aid shuddered. _Figures_.

* * *

He had no idea how much time had passed when he was next disturbed. He was nervous – so, so nervous – and despite how tired he felt he couldn’t bring himself to properly recharge. He was laying down on the sofa – no _way_ did he trust that berth – snapping in and out of recharge – when the door suddenly flew open and Vortex strode in.

“Hello, little mouse!” He cheerfully greeted. “Come on, get up. There is a full day ahead of us!”

“What am I doing?”

“You are a medic, yes? You are being a medic.”

“Who to?”

“My wonderful friends. I can be quite heavy handed with my _encouragement_ , you see, and they need your help.”

First Aid gulped. _Encouragement_? Was that what he called it? And _friends_?!

“Are you going to be good, or do I have to cuff you?”

“I will be good, Sir.”

“Oh, I like it when you say that.” Vortex purred, and First Aid resisted the urge to shudder. Vortex lead him through the outpost, hand on his shoulder as he kept him in front, hands behind his back were he could see them. Right. Left. Right. Third door to the left. Vortex finally stepped in front, unlocking the door and ushering First Aid inside.

First Aid almost slipped over in the spilled energon on the floor, bumping into Vortex who simply wrapped his arms around him and physically carried him in before placing him unceremoniously in the middle of the room. The stench of open wounds, spilled energon, and hot metal hit him hard, and a hand flew up to his face plate before he could stop it.

“Ooh, is there a _face_ under there? Let me see, let me see it little mouse~”

_Fuck_.

“But the patient-”

“Can wait, you’re busy with me.” Vortex leaned in close again, invading First Aid’s personal space as he once again grabbed his chin. “Where’s the catch?” He asked, pulling his face this way and that with zero regard for whether or not he even bent that way.

“I-it’s here. M-may I, Sir?”

“You’re so cute when you’re nervous.” First Aid couldn’t see it, but he was certain that Vortex would be grinning if he had a face under his mask. “Please do, little mouse.” He moved his hands away, but was still leaning in close enough for his tightly-held field to crackle against First Aids own.

First Aid fumbled a little with the catch – he really, really didn’t want Vortex to know where it was, damn it! - but removed it none the less. Vortex made an appreciative sound.

“Oh, my, you are a cute one~”

“Primus, spare me the theatrics.” The mech on the floor spat out, coughing up thick, discoloured energon. First Aid had almost forgotten about him.

Vortex hadn’t. And he did _not_ appreciate the interruption.

First Aid loudly gasped as Vortex violently kicked him in the stomach, sending the mech sliding backwards with a wet screech as he scraped across the floor. The poor mech screamed, energon gurgling in their throat.

“That should keep him quiet.” Vortex scowled. He gave First Aid another appreciative look, engine purring. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need to fix him.”

First Aid had to allow himself a few deep breaths before he could respond. “May I see your medical bay?”

* * *

He didn’t know how long he’d been there for. If he wasn’t in his windowless room, he was in the windowless medical bay. He was so sure that there was a window in there – there was a section of the wall that looked like it could slide away, and from what he remembered of seeing the outside it looked like where this room was there was a huge window allowing in lots and lots of wonderful natural light – but for whatever reason, it was covered over.

His only constants were Vortex presenting him with his latest victim, Vortex presenting him with energon, and Vortex.

Vortex was oddly _nice_ to him. Whether it was just a simple mind game or not – something devised to make him fall into a false sense of security around Vortex and so easier to manipulate – he didn’t know, but he knew that it was working.

In his moments alone, he’d sit on an empty medical berth and think. So far, no one had actually _hurt_ him. This struck him as being extremely odd. They’d captured medics before, and they’d been just as heavy handed with them as they had with anyone else.

Another thing was that he had no idea if anyone even knew he was missing, or where he was. The outpost he was stationed at only checked in with headquarters once a decacycle, and that previous evening was their last communication. It’d be at least another before a lack of response ticked anyone off to their absence – no doubt the Combaticons had made a clean sweep of the base, slaughtering or capturing everyone they could find. But, if those in the mines had survived – they likely didn’t know what had happened or who had came, unless Bruticus liked to leave a signature.

For now, he was very, very much alone and unsure of his future.

All he was certain of was that Vortex wanted something from him, and he was willing to wait and to butter him up in order to get it.

* * *

“Any news?” Jazz asked, perching on Prowls desk as he placed down a cube of energon in front of him. Prowl glanced at it with an appreciative flick of his doorwings before turning back to his datapad. He frowned and shook his head.

“None. And no sign of any of those missing, either.”

Jazz chewed on his claws. “Any suspects?”

“Latest intel says that the Combaticons have their base not too far away – about half a days flight. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found anyone there.”

“Th’ Combaticons?” Jazz asked. “We migh’ need ta consider a trade. It ain’t gonna be easy gettin’ outta there.”

“I have sent a communication already.” Prowl replied, placing down the datapad with a sigh. “No response. We may have to turn to their leader.”

“Ah hope Aid’s doin’ okay. He’s never been in this kinda situation.”

“You’ve trained them all the best you can.” Prowl gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Have faith.”

* * *

“Hello, little mouse. Are you hungry?” Vortex asked as he walked into the medical bay, cubes of energon in hand.

First Aid was laying on his back on one of the medical berths, staring up at the ceiling, deep in thought. He flinched as Vortex approached, suddenly sitting upright. Vortex presented him with a cube, and First Aid hesitantly took it.

“It’s such a shame you’re an Autobot.” Vortex dreamily said as First Aid removed his face mask in order to drink. “You’re just my type. So cute and innocent looking, so fun to break.”

“Is that supposed to be endearing?”

Vortex snickered, removing his own mask and revealing to First Aid that he too had a face underneath. It was scarred, most notably by one that distorted his mouth into a half smile, but decorated in smaller nicks that reminded First Aid of stars. He didn’t realise that he was staring until he noticed Vortex was smirking.

“What about you, little mouse? What gets you going?”

First Aid huffed and drank his energon. “You ask as if you have a chance.”

“Oh, but I think I do, don’t you agree?” Vortex discarded his cube of energon on the berth behind him and stalked forwards towards First Aid. He gently took the cube out of First Aid’s hands and pulled his chin upwards, the two visor to visor, nose to nose. First Aid could see Vortex’s optics through the crystal, boring deeply into his own. “The way you watch me doesn’t go unnoticed, little mouse. Or the way your vents hitch and speed up,” he traced one hand over his tyres, claws bouncing across the plump material. “it’s such a shame there’s a war and I’m playing for the opposite team, isn’t it? Such a shame indeed.”

“Truly.” First Aid’s optics flickered between Vortex’s own and his lips. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.


	2. Chapter 2

As First Aid spent another morning waking up to the same plain white ceiling, the same weird-smelling scratchy blankets, the same annoyingly leaky tap, and came to the frankly terrifying conclusion that no one was coming for him.

It was a thought that did not settle well with him. Not at all.

He buried his face into his hands, body shaking so much so that his plating rattled and clacked together as he curled up into a ball on the berth. There had to be a mistake somewhere. How could nobody have noticed that he was gone? Had his gestalt not noticed that he hadn’t even comm’ed them once?

In the corner of his consciousness, he vaguely registered the door opening.

He looked up a few moments later, the feel of anothers field pushing against his own grabbing his attention. Vortex was crouched in front of him, helm tilted to the side in curiosity.

“You awake, little mouse?” Vortex suddenly asked, and First Aid froze, peering through his fingers.

“I’m awake.” He quietly replied.

“It’s time to get up. I’ve got shooting practice outside. Come watch me.”

It was a change of pace from staring at the four walls of the medical bay all day. First Aid nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled up.

* * *

“Prowl wants to do an exchange.” Onslaught said later that morning, Vortex barely awake.

“And?” He asked, rubbing sleep and the sand from his shooting practice earlier from his optics.

“He seems to be under the belief that we have First Aid.”

 _That_ made Vortex pause and wake up a bit. He wasn’t done playing with his toy yet. “Then isn’t it such a shame that we don’t have him.” He spat.

“You are aware that I was only allowing this on the condition that we _all_ enjoy his function.” Onslaught growled. “Thus far I am yet to see his use.”

“My new toy is extremely useful, thank you very much! When was the last time you had to summon Hook to repair any of us because I got bored?” Vortex snarled back.

Onslaught was quiet, visor silently boring a hole through his helm. Vortex stared right back.

“I’d best begin to enjoy him personally soon, Vortex, or I may just let it slip that you have him.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

“Now fuck off. I’ve got a call to return.” Onslaught waved him off. Vortex hopped up out of the seat, cheerfully skipping away. Well, he may have to let the others use First Aid as their medic, too, but he had the feeling he’d still have the little medic aaaaall to himself!

* * *

First Aid felt his tanks churn as he was presented with his latest patients.

They were all stationed at the same outpost as he was, and he recognised each and every one of them. Names he couldn’t quite place – the guilt he felt from that was immeasurable – but faces? Faces, he could. There were four of them in total.

All of them were in various states of consciousness. He decided to check up on those who weren’t moving first.

Vortex silently watched him from the corner, helm slightly tilted like a curious child, arms crossed over his chest, and one foot hooked behind the other, leg slightly bent at the knee.

All in all, no change from the usual, Vortex would always be watching him, hands twitching. Every so often, he would stand behind him or next to him, totally ignoring the concept of personal space as he leaned in and observed him from up close. No matter how often First Aid complained, he never backed off unless he _really_ kicked up a fuss, so eventually he gave up any attempt of maintaining his personal boundaries.

The problem didn’t come until the final mech. He was still somewhat awake, blearily looking around the room, optics never really focusing on anything until First Aid came into view.

“Aid?” They weakly said, energon gurgling in their throat.

“How are you feeling?” He softly replied, scanning him and checking his diagnostics. Vortex slid up behind First Aid again, peering over his shoulder and resting his helm in the crook of his neck to peer at the screen.

The mech in the berth did _not_ like that.

“Is that-?! He hissed, struggling to sit up.

“No, you mustn’t! Stay down, please-”

“No! Traitor! You- you dirty little trai-”

Vortex did not appreciate the mech raising his voice at _his_ medic, and decided to show his displeasure in the only way he knew how: _gratuitous violence_.

It solved the mystery of where the window was, at least.

Vortex had grabbed them by the arm they’d raised to point their horrid, grubby little fingers at _his First Aid_ , and flung them across the room towards the wall. First Aid had gasped and jumped forwards, totally unsure of what to do, and froze when the wall tore, revealing it was simply a thin sheet of metal hiding the window behind it. Said window then shattered upon the impact of the poor mech. Vortex rolled his shoulders, clicking his rotor blades together, and jumped out of the window after him.

“Oh, Primus!” First Aid gasped, rushing to the window to look out of it, hanging out over the frame and knocking remnants of the window pane loose as he desperately watched the scene below. Vortex was stalking towards the other mech, anger visible in his frame. He had to do something, or that mech was as good as dead.

“ _Vortex_!” First Aid snapped, leaning further out of the broken window to glare at him. “That is quite enough!”

“But-!”

“No!” First Aid harshly pointed at him, fuel pump pumping like mad in his chest. “If you want me to repair him, you bring him here right now, and you leave him _well enough alone_!”

It was almost comical how much like a scolded child Vortex looked. He kicked a stone, muttering to himself as he stormed towards the poor mech he’d just defenestrated. They made a strangled screaming noise, scrabbling backwards in a desperate attempt to escape, but alas, Vortex easily caught up to them and roughly grabbed them, hoisting them up and dragging them back into the outpost.

First Aid felt his legs turn to jelly as he slowly sank to the floor, feeling rather light headed indeed.

He couldn’t believe he’d done that. Vortex was going to be so, so very cross with him.

Only he wasn’t. He was still sat on the floor when Vortex returned, and he heard the heavy thunk of a dead weight being thrown onto a berth before rapid pedefalls approaching him, and then Vortex was kneeling next to him.

“You doin’ okay?”

“F-fine!” He squeaked.

“Mmhm, good.” Vortex bounced on his heels for a moment. “You should do that more often, you know. Get angry with me. It’s so _very_ endearing. And use my name. You should _definitely_ do that more often.” His voice dropped down to a purr.

“I am _not cute_!” First Aid replied, his voice going hysterically high pitched at the end. Vortex just laughed, and maddeningly nuzzled his mask against First Aid’s.

“Cutiiiieeee~”

“Ugh!” First Aid snapped, jumping to his feet and storming towards his patient. “This is clearly harassment, _Sir_.”

“Aww.” Vortex audibly pouted. “I liked it when you called me by my name.”

“You’re just going to have to make me.” First Aid retorted as he rescanned his patient. “Sorry about that, I shan’t be letting that happen again.” He softly said to them.

The mech simply whimpered.

* * *

Vortex left the interrogation room shaking with unspent energy and absolutely _covered_ in energon.

First Aid was going to be so desperately upset with him.

That mech had rubbed him the wrong way from the start. And, as the only mech to be conscious enough to recognise First Aid? Well, he just had to go, didn’t he? They couldn’t possibly be having anyone going and spilling their secrets now, could they? That’d just make Onslaught very cross – a weak link may as well be a gaping hole for all he cared – and it would most likely bring the entire cast of the Autobots to their doorstep.

Nope. Not happening. His pesky pesky loyalty code demanded that he left Optimus Prime to his oh so charming leader Megatron, and there was no chance in pit that he’d let _that_ happen.

His walk to the washrack took him past the medical bay where First Aid was locked into. Unbeknownst to their poor little medic, Vortex had left him a little treat tucked into his neck – if he left without his consent, a cute little device would go boom! And First Aid would be no more. Onslaught had insisted, and Swindle had pulled the device out of thin air. The devious fuckers had clearly collaborated on that particular idea, but Vortex could only bow to his wishes, unless he was willing to lose his little toy.

He only wished that he had the chance to have it turned into a collar. His little toy would look oh so very cute with a collar on.

“Sir?” First aid was stood in the doorway, field oozing concern, hands held to his chest. “Are you okay?”

Hmm. His frame gave another shudder, energy crackling between his rotor blades. He could do with some help getting rid of the excess charge – usually he’d turn to his gestalt, but with this cute little Autobot right in front of him, there for the taking? Now _that_ would do.

Vortex stepped into the medbay, bumping into First Aid and pushing him backwards into the room. He closed the door behind him, reaching up to deadbolt it without looking, staring straight at First Aid.

“Uhm...” Fear prickled in First Aid’s field, sickly sweet and absolutely _intoxicating_. His knees began to knock together – music to his ears.

“Actually, I could do with some help...”

“What can I do for you?” First Aid gulped.

“I have a… little problem.”

“Do you want to take a seat?” First Aid gestured to the medical berth, and Vortex obediently sat on the edge. He sat still as First Aid remotely scanned him, humming as he read the output on the datapad.

“Nothing abnormal on the scan.” He said, although it sounded as if he were talking more to himself than to Vortex. “How are you feeling? Is there something lodged somewhere that the scan missed?”

“Actually, there is something...” Vortex’s rotor blades crackled together again. “Jammed in here.” He pathetically pointed to his back, and First Aid followed it with his optics before his visor brightened in understanding.

“What have you even been up to? You’re soaked in energon. Is it even yours?”

“Have a guess.”

“That’s a no, then. Don’t tell me. I can fill in the blanks.”

Vortex smirked. Oh, if only he knew.

First Aid’s fingers brushed against the rotors, and Vortex barely suppressed a shudder. Oh, that felt good. Very good. Very, very good. And just a _taste_ of what he needed.

“Oh!” First Aid gasped as Vortex tugged him into his lap, smearing energon over him. “What do you want, Sir?”

“You.”

First Aid’s engine spluttered, his fans clicking on. Finally, _finally_ Vortex’s own abnormally loud fans registered, and he realised just why Vortex had come to the medical bay so early.

“Is that why you locked the door? You don’t want to share?”

“Is this turning you on? Oh, you are _filthy_.”

“Like you’re any better.” First Aid retorted, reaching up to remove Vortex’s face mask. “May I?”

Oh, yes indeed. Vortex allowed the little medic to remove it, gently placing it to the side. First Aid reached up, fingers gently tracing over the scars on his face.

“How did this happen?” He quietly asked. Vortex gently took his hand, pressing his lips to the tips of his fingers individually.

“A fight. Same as always.”

“You have others?”

“You’ll just have to find them.” Vortex said, taking First Aid’s thumb into his mouth to gently tease it with his tongue. First Aids visor brightened, and he felt his spark pulse in his chest. Sharp teeth gently grazed his thumb, sending a thrill straight down his spine.

“So… uhm...” First Aid tried, the feel of his thumb in Vortex’s mouth extremely distracting. His hand on Vortex’s chest slipped in the energon that coated it. “What was it you wanted to do?”

Vortex hummed in thought, grinding his hips upwards into First Aid, making the smaller mech gasp. His hands wondered, one coming to rest on his thigh, squeezing and caressing it, the other on his aft, unashamed and openly pawing at it, kneading the metal. First Aid felt his core temperature tick up a few degrees.

“I wanna see what you’ll look like on my spike.” He licked his lips. “All cute and needy and spread open for me.”

First Aids breath audibly hitched, and Vortex couldn’t help but feel rather pleased with himself.

“Whilst this filthy?” First Aid said, running a finger through the drying energon spattered over him, leaving a smear in its wake. “Unlikely. Go shower.”

Vortex’s only response was to wrap his arms around First Aid and immediately rub himself all over him, the medic making an undignified noise of disgust as he struggled against him for freedom.

“Augh- Sir! That’s _so_ gross!”

“Looks like you’ll have to come with me.”

“I had to anyway – you’d smeared it all over me when you decided you wanted me in your lap.” First Aid looked vaguely cross, sending tingles straight down between his legs.

“I suppose, but it’s more fun this way, isn’t it?”

First aid failed to see the entertainment here, but he allowed Vortex to nuzzle him none the less. He yelped and clung to him as Vortex suddenly stood, hands firmly on his aft to keep him in place, and began purposefully striding towards the door.

“W-wait-put me down, I can walk myself-” he wriggled in his attempt to get free.

“Would you rather I put you over my shoulder?”

“Like a hunted animal? No, thank you. But this is undignified.”

“Pssht. _Autobot_.”

* * *

The washrack on the combaticon base was surprisingly… clean. First Aid wasn’t actually entirely sure what he had expected. A grotty, dingey, slimy tiled room, he supposed, the corners infested with mould. Possibly mushrooms pushing their way up despite the grouting. But instead, he was faced with a relatively clean washrack that looked very much like the one at HQ, the tiles still white, and no fungus to be seen.

He had – very reluctantly, he would especially like to note – allowed Vortex to carry him to the washrack. For whatever reason, the mech absolutely refused to allow him to walk on his own two feet, instead opting to hold him in his arms much like he’d seen in childrens cartoons, with a prince carrying a princess. He was very, very glad that they hadn’t run into anyone.

Vortex clumsily attempted to use his pedes to turn the water on – First aid eventually took pity on him, and with a flick of his wrist turned the flow on himself. The water pattered against the broad expanse of Vortex’s chest, mixing and swirling with the energon spattered across it.

“You can let me down now, you know.” First Aid said over the sound of the water.

“You’re nice to carry. Real nice.” Vortex bounced him in his arms, First Aid squeaking and immediately grabbing onto him. The bastard laughed, First Aid frowning at him behind his face mask.

“I was under the impression that you wanted to fuck me.” First Aid pushed away from him, swinging his legs down and attempting to wriggle free. “Very odd way to go about it.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, little mouse.” he finally set him down, but not without a farewell pat on his aft. First Aid bit down on his lip.

Vortex reached over him for the soap and a scrubbie, pouring out a measured amount onto it before using it to lather up. First Aid quietly watched him, silently amazed that Vortex didn’t seem to have some bizarre way of cleaning himself. He wasn’t sure why, but he had been utterly convinced that the Combaticons had some bizarre way of washing, or didn’t do it properly, as he had been taught. But, here right before him, Vortex was even going as far as to extend his claws to really dig in deep along his seams and into his joints, ensuring that he was squeaky clean.

First Aid located another scrubbie – they seemed to have quite the collection sat in the rack – and set to cleaning himself off. There wasn’t as much as he’d expected – Vortex seemed to be more dry than he’d thought when he decided to rub himself all over him like some kind of animal – but just enough for First Aid to be distinctly displeased with it being there.

“This clean enough for you?” Vortex asked, giving him a twirl. First Aid’s visor brightened, surprised at how clean he looked. He was almost sparkling.

“Did you put in extra effort for me?”

“I thought we were in agreement that I want to fuck you.”

A tingle of something that First Aid couldn’t decipher as either fear or excitement shot through him, making his vents hitch.

“Clean enough, yes.” he breathed.

“You look like you could do with more, though.” Vortex hummed. “Give me your hands.”

First Aid gave him a wary look, but presented them to him. A medics hands were sensitive – something Vortex was likely to be extremely aware of. When faced with the lead interrogator of the Decepticons, you did not simply hand them the most sensitive part of your body without a healthy dose of fear.

“Don’t be so scared.” Vortex admonished, taking one of the hands into his own and applying delicate circling pressure that made First Aid begin to melt, working the cleanser into the joints and transformation seams. “I need your hands in perfect condition. I wont harm them.”

“I’m not entirely sure I like the wording of that.”

“I am making no promises about the state of your frame once I’m done.” He grinned at him, sharp teeth peeking out through his lips.

“Not sure I like that, either.” First Aid fought the urge to snatch his hands back and run away. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to even _go_.

“Psshh, I’m _joking_ , little mouse.” Vortex moved onto the other hand, repeating the same motions again.

“You’re only saying that because you’re worried I wont let you near me. How about this? If I say… Oklahoma? Then you need to stop. You need to stop, and leave me alone.”

“Oklahoma? As in the place?”

“Yes.”

“But why _Okla_ -”

“It was just the first obscure word I thought of!” First Aids face flushed brightly. “It’s not that deep!”

“Whatever you say, little mouse. We have ourselves a deal.”

“Good! Good. So, uhm… How did you…?” First Aid stumbled over his words, suddenly faced with the situation before him. He knew his way around a ‘Copter – Blades existed – so he wasn’t shy about getting stuck in with that particular aspect of it. It was just… well. _Vortex_.

“Take this off,” Vortex tapped on his face mask, “and turn around.”

First Aid did as told, stashing his mask into his subspace and turning around, bracing himself on the wall with his arms. Vortex hummed in appreciation, fans roaring even over the sound of the shower. His hands roamed, dipping into seams and tracing along patterns and lines that First Aid couldn’t see. He stepped forwards, pressing their frames together, and rested his chin on his shoulder, positioned just so that his ex-vents tickled across his neck.

First Aid bit down on his lip, fans working ever harder to keep his core temperature down. His hands trembled on the wall. He shouldn’t be enjoying this – he really, really, shouldn’t, but damn he was. The forbidden nature of it just made it all the more alluring.

A hand strayed down between his legs, rubbing at the panel there, and then a finger tapped against it twice.

“Open up.” Vortex growled directly into his audial. First Aid whimpered as it snapped open completely unbidden, and he silently cursed himself for it. Two fingers immediately circled the rim of his valve, pushing against the plush metal, and he felt the taller mech’s engine rev.

“My oh my, you are dripping wet.” Vortex slid a finger inside, First Aid gasping, knees trembling. “All because of me?”

“Who else?” First Aid pushed back against him. “I didn’t take you to be a tease.”

“Never been called a tease before.” Vortex pushed a second finger in, taking his sweet time stretching the medic out, slowly sliding them in and out. He took great care to ensure that he pushed against every single node he could reach, massively enjoying the trembles and shakes he pulled out of him.

A third finger easily joined the others, and Vortex decided then that enough was enough – he wanted _in_.

First aid felt it more than saw it as Vortex’s own panel snapped back, spike extending. He felt it rub against his aft, pressing insistently into the metal, and his valve clenched in response. Pit, why was he responding so eagerly to this?! But he didn’t have much time to contemplate on it – the searing hot tip was pressing against him, and it was all he could do to not push back against it.

“Are you ready?” Vortex purred into his audial. First Aid enthusiastically nodded.

“Ready.”

The spike slowly slid in, First Aid breathing in deeply at the thick, heavy intrusion. He couldn’t help but stare directly into Vortex’s visor over his shoulder – he was sure Vortex would tease him horrifically for it, but it certainly helped his case when he saw that Vortex was doing the same back to him.

Vortex was still for a moment to allow him to adjust, and when First Aid whined with a needy little wiggle, he slowly pulled out and pushed back in again, getting a feel for it. It wouldn’t do to suddenly be brutal with him, would it? He wanted to use him again, after all.

After a few moments of the slow, gentle pace, Vortex suddenly changed up. He pulled out slowly, First Aid sighing in bliss, before suddenly slamming back in again, bottoming out as he pressed insistently against the end of his valve.

“Holy-!” First Aid cried, fingers scraping at the wall as his visor flashed white.

“Too much?”

“Too _little_!” First Aid choked out.

“Ha, ha! Now _that’s_ what I like to hear!”

The clangs of their hip plating clashing together echoed throughout the washrack, but neither of them found it in themselves to care. Vortex’s hands roamed, continuing to dip into the gaps of the medics armour while one hand left dents in his hip from how tightly he was holding him. He nibbled and nipped along cabling in First Aids neck, massively enjoying the sounds he was drawing out of the little red medic.

“F-fuck!” First Aid stammered as a pressure began to build in his belly, his knees weakening. His helm hung down between his arms, breath coming in harsh pants. “I’m sorry I’m going to fall, I can’t-”

Vortex pulled out with a needy groan, flipping First Aid over and pulling his legs up so they hooked around his hips before sliding back in again, both visors brightening and First Aid visibly trembling at the sensation.

He continued at the same pace, the stretch delicious and his spike pushing up and rubbing every node that mattered. First Aid was visibly coming undone – shaking, trembling, visor whiting out, and yet Vortex just couldn’t seem to be able to shove him over the edge no matter what he did. He was in a spot of trouble here – he could feel his own overload _right there_ – it wouldn’t surprise him if he overloaded just from the medic reaching over his shoulder and poking one of his rotors. But the medic? A conundrum.

“Frag-” Vortex groaned, helm smacking the wall right next to First Aid’s as his spike pulsed and twitched inside him, begging for them to continue. “What’s it going to take to get you to overload for me?”

“I- uhm-” First Aid’s faceplates flushed a deep crimson and he bit his bottom lip. He could feel himself teetering on the edge – how could he _not_ be? But it was missing something, something he’d not once been able to overload without. “I… I need your...” he opened his mouth and pointed at his tongue, not able to look at him.

“Hmm?” Vortex pushed himself back up, and First Aid swallowed hard as he repeated the action. “My teeth?” He smirked, sharp fangs catching the lights of the washrack.

“No, no, uhm… Oh Primus this is so embarrassing...” He tried to squeeze his legs together in embarrassment, his thighs only managing to squeeze Vortex’s waist. The mech purred and pushed in deeper, rubbing insistently upon a ceiling node and making First Aid gasp. “Your tongue! I-I need your tongue! Please!”

“And you thought _I_ was into some weird shit.” Vortex teased, sticking his tongue out at him. “Guide away, little mouse.”

The medic reached forwards and grabbed his helm with absolutely no hesitation, pulling their faces together and kissing him deeply. Vortex’s visor brightened in surprise, absolutely confused as to what was happening, until the penny dropped.

Ho? _This_ easy?

Apparently so, because no sooner than when Vortex had begun to move his hips again, slowly pulling out and ensuring that he dragged across every single node in the medics valve was First Aid a whimpering shuddering mess, visor flaring and back arching.

Vortex found himself watching with rapt attention as the medic harshly overloaded, covering his hips in a sticky, viscous fluid. He shuddered and whimpered as he rode it out, his blue visor flickering with static, but even from this distance Vortex knew that First Aid was looking directly at him.

This? This he was _not_ sharing. A growl ripped through his throat as a possessive feeling bubbled up in his chest, and his hips snapped forwards forcefully as he followed them in overload. He was barely aware of First Aid whimpering as he bit down on his throat hard enough to leave a dent.

If he left a mark, he’d make it clear – _mine_. He decided then that he’d definitely look into that cute, cute collar for him.

* * *

The way First Aid looked at it, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Nothing felt real, entirely like a dream. Vortex, a known war criminal, interrogator extraordinaire, a walking torture machine, seemed to have taken an interest in him, and was showing that yes – he _did_ know how to be nice. Nice in the loose sense of the word, at least. And, _devastatingly_ , he was just his type, too.

But, even worse, this was entirely a situation he had _fantasised_ about. A big dangerous bad boy-type who was inexplicably smitten with him, carrying scars and an unhealthy blood lust, but a big softie for his sweetheart. And, for whatever reason, First Aid had found himself as the sweetheart.

He could never, _ever_ let anyone know. It would get him court marshalled at best. He daren’t think of the worst.

First Aid lay curled up on the bunk in the corner of his room, fingers tracing over where Vortex’s had been, and felt a thrill shoot through his chest. If he was dreaming, he didn’t want to wake up. Not just yet. And if he wasn’t? Well, if he wanted to survive with the Combaticons, he’d just have to act like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Aid being a cute, demure, and defenceless thing? Tired. Whatever the hell this is? Wired.  
> Genuinely considering tagging this as crack just because I'm living my best life and doing whatever I want. Sorry, y'all.  
> I had like, a huuuuge chunk of this written for MONTHS, I just genuinely couldn't bring myself to go and finish it for whatever reason. And then tonight I hyperfixated and worked on it instead of sleeping. I'm going to be extremely dead at work but I ain't even mad.


	3. Chapter 3

First Aid had spent his morning cleaning up the medbay.

He’d lost track of time. Just how long he’d spent there, he didn’t know. He’d started to attempt to scratch the number of days into his wall, hidden underneath the sink, but it was starting to drive him insane. Either he was forgetting, or he was simply losing his mind, but every time he looked at it the number of days changed. More days had passed than he’d thought when he woke up – but come time to recharge again, and he’d have gained days, and less had passed than he thought. He checked it against his memory, and the numbers were always different.

And, even more disturbing: there was something in his neck.

He hadn’t noticed it at first – and he silently cursed himself for it – but it had recently become apparent that something was stuck in there that very much shouldn’t have been. Upon some examination, he had come to the terrifying conclusion that it was likely to be an explosive. It made sense – he was often left on his own, unattended in the enemy base. It was pure, pure luck that so far his own curious nature hadn’t lead him to leave the medical bay and explore the base – self preservation had been much, much stronger than that, even before he knew that he was rigged to blow. But now that he knew? He was _terrified_. He didn’t know exactly what set it off. Thinking poor thoughts about them or Megatron didn’t seem to do it, or he’d have been long dead by now. Getting handsy with them didn’t seem to, either. His face heated at the memories the thought had dragged up. All he could think of was that someone had to be holding the trigger, and it was just a game to them as of when they’d set it off.

Maybe if he was good, maybe if he was well behaved, they’d grant him access to his own internal chronometer and provide him with some much needed sanity. If he could just count the joors…

Something strange was beginning to happen. Not _bad_ , exactly – just something he hadn’t anticipated ever happening was occurring. He was starting to recognise who had been a victim of who.

Vortexs, true to form, tended to be totally mangled. But, the one identifying feature unique to his was that they’d all have some form of falling damage.

Blast Off didn’t seem to get his hands dirty very often – all of his victims had been subject to the elemental force of electricity.

Swindles reminded First Aid of the patients he’d see on TV who’d had dealings gone sour with the Mafia.

Brawls were… flat. Very flat. If he was lucky, he could distinguish marks on them that were indicative of being run over. Repeatedly.

And Onslaughts victims? Mangled. Mangled was the only word to describe it. First Aid was surprised that many of them were even still alive, and that he’d yet to have anyone actually die on him.

He had just finished putting away his freshly polished tools when the door opened and Vortex waltzed in. First Aid tensed, expecting another victi- no, he couldn’t think of them like that – another _patient_ accompanying him. But he was alone, and he relaxed.

“Good morning, Sir.”

“Good morning, Little mouse.” Vortex sleepily greeted. He seemed abnormally tired that day, rubbing at his optics and hanging his rotor blades low.

“Did something happen?” First Aid prompted. “You seem more tired than usual.”

“Mmm, nothing in particular.” He said, steering First Aid towards the wall where the window was hidden.

Vortex stood behind him, elbows lazily slung over First Aids shoulders, and rested his helm on top of First Aids. “They’re doing a prisoner exchange.” He sleepily explained, yawning loudly. “I wanna watch, but I have to baby sit you, too. Be good.”

“Yes, Sir.” First Aid quietly replied.

Vortex flicked a switch using his pede with great difficulty, balancing precariously and leaning heavily on First Aid. The metal shutter covering the window slowly drew open, revealing the desert landscape around them. The room flooded with shades of orange and brown, the light of day bouncing off the ground and illuminating the room. There wasn’t a single cloud to be seen in the sky.

First Aid watched, face unreadable, as Onslaught and Swindle handled the prisoner exchange. First Aid recognised them all – every mech they’d taken from the outpost was lined up outside, and he counted them. One, two, three, four, five…

He frowned, and counted again. And again. That couldn’t be right. Someone was missing.

“Someone’s missing.” First Aid quietly said. “Why are they missing?”

He felt Vortex exvent heavily against his neck. “Sometimes, they just don’t make it.”

Realisation flashed across him. “You _didn’t_.”

“I may have~”

“Oh, you are abhorrent-!”

“Hey, hey, shhh.” Vortex stroked the back of his hands down his cheeks. “I made it up to you. Look.”

First Aid looked outside, and froze.

Blades. Blades was there. He was part of the team conducting the prisoner exchange.

“Blades?” His voice was barely there. Vortex grinned. “But he doesn’t know I’m here.”

“He doesn’t.” Vortex cheerfully confirmed.

“I want to see him.” First Aid whimpered. “I miss him so much.” He leaned forwards, straining against Vortex as he reached forwards towards the glass. “My gestalt. I haven’t been with them in so long.”

Vortex’s reaction was instant – a deep rumble in his chest, and two arms tightening around him, holding them flush together. Jealousy prickled against his own field, and he swallowed.

“I’m not going anywhere.” First Aid attempted to soothe, terrified of Vortex getting any smart ideas of shooting down the ship Blades was in. He reached up and held onto Vortex’s arms, squeezing the metal with his hands. “Besides. I know you’ve planted a bomb inside of me. It’s not very well hidden. Am I going to be correct in assuming it detonates if I were to leave a certain area?”

“Smart cookie, aren’t we?” Vortex purred. He very much enjoyed the attention First Aid was giving him. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. Discuss your upgrade.”

“Upgrade?”

“You’ve been a good little mouse.” he murmured right against First Aid’s audial, sending shudders straight down his spine. “So I thought I’d give you something pretty to wear instead.”

“Are you going to take the bomb out?” He asked, optics still locked onto Blades. He missed him. He missed his team. But they hadn’t even tried to contact him – he’d feel it, in the bond, he was certain – and when he’d asked anyone on the base if the Protectobots had been in contact, all he had received was a negative response.

“Of course.” Vortex chirped. “That only seems fair, doesn’t it? You’ve been very well behaved, staying in here.”

“Is that what the trigger is? Leaving this room?”

“Now, don’t go telling Onslaught I’ve been loose lipped about this.” Vortex resumed resting his chin on the top of First Aids helm. “But yes. Without an escort, of course.”

First Aid shuddered. How close had he come to death, and how many times?

“When are you going to remove it?” He shuddered.

“When that transport,” he pointed at the ship Blades was currently assisting their traded prisoners onto, “is smaller than a grain of sand on the horizon.”

“So I can’t follow them?” First Aid bitterly replied.

“Exactly.” Vortex pulled him close again, holding them flush together. “Don’t forget, they didn’t come for you.” He growled. “There’s no need to be giving chase.”

“Yes, Sir.” First Aid quietly replied.

“Besides,” Vortex chirped. “I have something for you.”

“You do?”

Vortex leaned back as he rummaged in his subspace, and then pulled out a small box. He popped it open with one hand, and carefully placed it onto a medical berth behind them as he removed what was inside. Whatever it was, it jingled, and First Aid couldn’t help but tear his optics away from Blades and look down.

A collar. It was a collar, with a little bell on it.

Vortex held the collar out in front of them, hovering it over First aid’s neck. The two looked at their reflection on the glass, and even though he was wearing his visor First Aid just knew that Vortex’s optics were boring into his own.

“Looks very pretty on you, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Vortex delicately fastened it, First Aid’s hand coming up to gently brush against it. The weight of it was somewhat soothing, and it made him feel sick that he enjoyed it.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. Thank you, Sir.”

Vortex patted him on the top of the helm, watching with sharp optics as the door to the transport taking their Autobot captives home snapped shut, and they began to leave.

“Well,” Vortex stood straighter and stretched out, rotors clicking together. “I don’t think you’re going to be much trouble, are you, Little mouse? Promise me you’ll behave while working?”

“What about the…?” First Aid couldn’t bring himself to say it, and instead opted for tapping his neck in its general location.

“Oh, that? Ons will be by later to disable it. I’m apparently not _allowed to_.” He bunny eared the words, body language oozing sarcasm. “I’ll come with. Can’t be leaving my Little mouse all alone with the big bad wolf, can I?”

“I can handle you just fine.” First Aid retorted. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Oof, so harsh. You cut me deep.” He waved to him as he began to leave, turning his back to him. “See you.”

First Aid felt himself start to panic. He didn’t know why – Vortex _never_ stuck around for very long – but for some reason, seeing his alternate mode kibble, his retreating back, and the goodbye was too much.

He missed his gestalt so much. He wished he hadn’t seen Blades. It just made the deep hole in his spark even deeper.

Closing the distance in one, two, three strides, First Aid threw his arms around Vortex’s midsection, the copter making a surprised noise.

“I’m sorry-”

“Naaw, do you feel guilty? It’s okay, I already forgave you.” Vortex patted his arms. “But really, you don’t have to-”

“Shhhh.” First Aid tried his best to reach up from behind him and cover his mouth, only succeeding in pitifully batting at his chest. “Don’t talk. Let me have this.”

Vortex’s mouth snapped shut. He peered back over his shoulder – a difficult feat, mind you – and didn’t see any blue glow reflecting off of his rotors. First Aid had offlined his visor, and he had just begun to hold him tighter, nuzzling his helm against his back.

Was… was he being hugged?

It was… strangely cute.

And enjoyable. Very enjoyable.

He wriggled his hands under First Aid’s arms, pushing them away. First Aid made a confused and vaguely hurt noise that quickly turned to confusion as Vortex turned around and pulled him back in again, patting his helm and holding him tightly.

“Better?”

“… Better.” First Aid sighed, offlining his visor again and resting his helm on his chest. He melted against him, and Vortex’s rotors flicked upwards in surprise.

_Huh. That was easy._

He could have easily spent the cycle like that, very much enjoying having First Aid melted into his palm and already thinking of devious plans involving him and the medical berth and the restraints, but an extremely cross comm from Onslaught had his dreams shattered.

“Sorry, pet, I’ve gotta go.” He pushed the shorter mech away, brushing his knuckles down his cheek. “Duty calls.”

First Aid’s visor was dim as he leaned into the touch, nodding. “I don’t want to have to remove any fuel tanks from someones intake today. Got it?”

Vortex laughed, rotors clicking together. “Fine, fine.”

He left with little more than a quick nuzzle to the face and a wave. First Aid slowly walked over to the window. Vortex hadn’t closed it again. Hand hovering over the button to activate the mechanism, he desperately looked out at the horizon.

No ship in sight.

With a sigh, he pressed the button and watched as daylight was slowly extinguished, replaced with the stark clinical lighting of the medbay.

He’d thought that maybe if he’d offlined his visor and held his breath, that he’d be able to pretend that it was Blades. Even for a moment.

But he smelled like the polish that Vortex seemed to favour, and he didn’t feel the ache in his spark lessen any.

First Aid bit down on the bend of his index finger. Such a little wrench had completely ruined his plan. How could he possibly expect to forget and shun his gestalt in order to replace it with another one, when his love of his team was encoded deeply into his very spark?

Stupid, stupid mech.

* * *

“What did he say?” Blades asked, arms folded over his chest and tapping his foot impatiently. Prowl glanced up at him over his datapad and adjusted his glasses.

“They confirmed that they had seen First Aid at the outpost, but he couldn’t confirm anything about his current whereabouts.” Prowl responded. Blades exvented harshly, and rolled his optics.

“I know he’s in there. I could feel it.” He tapped his foot harder, looking as if he were about to continue but thinking better of it. He shook his head. “I just know it.”

“I was willing to part with information extremely relevant to Megatrons interests if Onslaught was to tell me the whereabouts of First Aid. Their loyalty coding would have demanded that he answer truthfully.”

“They just don’t want to admit it.” Blades spat. “He’s in there giving them the best medical care they’ve ever had, and they don’t want to give it up.”

Prowl sighed, and turned back to his datapad. There wasn’t any point in arguing, not when Blades was this worked up about it. Jazz sent a curious pulse through the bond, and Prowl promptly sent one back. _Everything was okay_.

Back at base, Blades debriefed and promptly returned to Protectobot HQ, flopping down onto the sofa and silently throwing a tantrum on the cushions, fists flailing and legs kicking.

“… You doing alright there, buddy?” Groove asked, looking for all the world as though he were about to turn around on the spot and pretend he hadn’t seen a thing.

“I know he’s there!” Blades insisted, pushing himself up. “I- I saw him, I swear!”

“Saw him where?” Groove deemed it safe enough to approach, slipping into an arm chair nearby.

“With the Combaticons. They lied! They said they didn’t know where he was, I’m so – argh!” Blades threw his hands up in the air. “Prowl’s insisting that they can’t lie to us about it because of that damn loyalty coding, but they did!”

“Did they have him outside whilst exchanging prisoners?” Groove asked in surprise.

“No,” Blades tucked his knees under his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I saw him in a window.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“Who else is red and white?” Blades spat. “Blue visor, red autobot badge, medical insignias. It was him. You can see for yourself.” Blades held out his wrist, port sliding open. Curious, Groove shifted to sit on the sofa next to Blades, and plugged in.

He was viewing a memory. Blades was watching the Combaticons present carefully – Onslaught, Blast-Off, and Swindle. Brawl and Vortex were nowhere to be seen, but it wasn’t unusual for some of them to be missing. The prisoners – Groove winced, Primus that had to _hurt_ – looked worse for wear but were alive. Prowl was speaking to Onslaught, far away enough that Blades couldn’t really hear. He began to observe the building, looking at the way the sunlight reflected off the glass of the windows and-

His spark froze. A flash of red in a window. He squinted, looking closer -

That was First Aid. Without a single doubt. And the tall, imposing figure next to him? Muted greys and blues?

“Is that Vortex next to him?” Groove shakily asked, unplugging himself and pressing his hand to his face.

“I think so.” Blades closed his panel and rested his chin on his knees. “You _know_ how he gets about rotaries.”

“Oh, Primus, Aid...” Groove placed his face into his hands. “He must be so scared...”

“We don’t tell anyone of this, yeah?” Blades grabbed Groove’s shoulder. “Please?”

“What?! No! We have to, we can’t just _leave_ him-!”

“Prowl’s shown that he is less than interested in this.” Blades grumbled. “And I don’t want anyone to stop me from getting him myself.”

“We should at least tell Hot Spot.”

“He’s even worse, he’ll insist that we wait for Prowls permission or whatever.”

“Permission for what?” A cold voice came from the doorway. The two froze, and slowly turned.

Hot Spot. He raised an optic ridge. “Well?”


	4. Chapter 4

First Aid poked at the sore spot on the back of his neck despite the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Ratchet scolding him and telling him not to.

Onslaught had, true to Vortex’s word, removed the… device. He had been brave enough then to ask if he could have his chronometer back, too, but Onslaught had been firm. _No_.

He didn’t even know _why_.

But even with the looming threat of a painful death gone, First Aid still couldn’t bring himself to step outside of the medical bay. The base was an unknown area, and his safe zones were the medical bay, his room, and by Vortex’s side. They were familiar to him.

Not that the other Combaticons were awful – no, the very opposite. They were strangely _nice_. He’d only ever met them before in combat – for whatever reason, their teams were often pitted against each other – but off the battle field, and on their home turf, they were… actually pretty okay to be around. Onslaught wasn’t interested in him in the slightest, and only really cared about him if he was either doing something he shouldn’t, or if he wanted him to do something. Otherwise, it largely felt as though he was considered Vortex’s problem. Swindle liked that there was someone new to introduce to his extensive wares (First Aid was pretty sure most of it was fake, such as the ‘genuine’ Praxian crystals that looked a lot like those salt crystal experiments Spike and Carly had showed him on YouTube, but he wasn’t brave enough to point that out with Brawl looming behind him) and that, on the occasions Onslaught allowed it, he had someone else to play cards with on games night.

Brawl liked to watch him work. He seemed to be _fascinated_ by his hands and the way they moved. First Aid had let him take a closer look, once, but Vortex hadn’t liked that all too much, so he hadn’t done it again. On movie nights when Onslaught allowed his presence, First Aid frequently found himself squeezed in between Vortex and Brawl.

Blast-Off seemed to tolerate him, at least. He’d mentioned before that he was only still around because Vortex was so much less of an annoying little bastard now that he had something new to entertain himself with, but he’d still slip First Aid small containers of what he recognised as high grade whenever Onslaught was particularly waspish, and he’d lent him some data pads in the name of education on Cybertron and its history. _Before_ the whole intergalactic war thing happened. He was under the belief that even war time builds should be well educated on their history.

With fewer prisoners on base, First Aid found himself with plenty of free time. Dare he say it, he was beginning to get _bored_. Every time he heard something, he’d feel his audials prickle and he’d hope that whatever it was was headed his way, and he’d have something to _do_ other than to stare out of the window at the vast expanse of the desert. Every so often, he’d stare out at the horizon and imagine that his team was coming to rescue him. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth – for whatever reason, he wasn’t quite ready to leave.

* * *

“Megatron: Requests your presence.”

Blast-Off shifted in his seat, glancing at Onslaught. His field simmered and prickled, fists twitching in their effort to not clench. He was very cross, and was doing his best to not show it whilst Soundwave was watching.

“When?” Onslaught snapped.

“Dates: To be confirmed.”

“I have a base to run and a team to manage.” Onslaught pressed. “I’d appreciate some common courtesy. If it doesn’t align with our plans, we will refuse.”

They both fought with the urge to rub the back of their helms, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. Fighting against the loyalty coding was always so difficult, but it was even harder when Megatron himself was bearing down on them. Just Soundwave alone was easy to resist. Megatron brought back memories of the cold, dark, empty boxes their sparks had been stuffed into and pushed to the back of the shelf, forgotten for centuries.

“Concerns: Noted.” Soundwave nodded to himself. He did not continue. Onslaughts jaw clenched behind his mask.

“Is there anything else, Soundwave?” Blast-Off prompted. “There’s a desert storm arriving in twenty Earth minutes.”

“Relevance?” Soundwave prompted. Onslaughts hands creaked ominously.

“Disruption to communications.” The commander ground out.

“Nothing else of importance.” Soundwave revealed. “Energon shipment: Arriving this Earth week.”

“Be sure to pass on our thanks to Lord Megatron.” Onslaught replied. Blast-Off heard more than saw his fingers puncture holes through his palm behind his back in frustration. _Damn coding._

Soundwave seemed happy enough, ending the call with little more than a nod. The screen flickered black with a popping sound, static briefly crackling in the disturbance of the approaching storm.

Call over, the two finally relaxed and began furiously rubbing the backs of their helms.

“I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it again.” Blast-Off grit out. “We need to find a way around this _fucking code_.”

“You watch too much Earth television. Swearing like them.” Onslaught scolded.

“What I do in my free time is my own business.”

“What the team does in their down time is _mine_.” Onslaught snapped. “Where is that medic?” He inspected his hand, energon oozing from the holes in his palm. It was nothing a field kid couldn’t fix, he idly thought, but why waste precious resources like a field kit when there was a perfectly capable medic on base?

“How am I to know? Ask Vortex.” Blast-Off snapped back. He knew it was a bad idea – they were both cranky from the coding, and the frustration of it all, and taking it out on his team leader was a death wish. He would probably do something awful to him in repsonse.

Unfortunately, being a commander and leader of the gestalt had its benefits, and Blast-Off was given the task of finding First Aid. The reason why they couldn’t just _ask_ Vortex?

The bastard wasn’t answering his comm.

That meant one of two things: that he was distracted by something much, much shinier than the incoming communications request from his commander, or he was unconscious.

They had _cameras_. They could have just _checked the cameras_. But, Blast-Off bitterly thought as he stomped down the stairs, Onslaught just _had_ to remind him who was boss by making him complete the most menial of tasks.

Well, he thought in an attempt to comfort himself, maybe once he was there he could ask the medic for pain relief. His helm was _seriously_ starting to ache.

The door to the medical bay was open, and the light was on, meaning someone was inside. Good. The medic had stayed put.

“Hey, Medi-” Blast-Off stopped mid word, mouth hanging open as he experienced all of the five stages of grief at high speed. “Really, now?!” He threw his hands up in disbelief, promptly turning around and stalking back out.

Vortex laughed from in between First Aid’s thighs, the medic clutching the berth with one hand and the other the rotaries helm.

“Oh!” First Aid attempted to press his thighs together in embarrassment, achieving nothing but squeezing Vortex closer. His hips twitched and he gasped as Vortex pressed insistently against his anterior node.

Blast-Off couldn’t be dealing with this, he decided, so he sent Onslaught a short message that he’d found them both and that if he was needed, he was in his quarters dunking his helm in bleach.

It wasn’t unusual to walk in on his gestalt in compromising positions. It happened often – they were a team, after all. He wasn’t adverse from joining in, either. But with an Autobot? _An Autobot?_

_Disgusting._

* * *

“I’m going to be in sooooo much trouble.” Vortex hummed as he swiped his tongue across First Aids valve, the other twitching and pressing into his touch. “Ignoring comms from Ons? He’s gonna have my aft.”

“You shouldn’t ignore him.” First Aid gasped. “He’s your commander.”

“I’m busy. He knows I don’t answer when I’m busy.” A kiss was pressed against the soft metal. “And you’re just looking so, so pretty with that collar on. I can’t help myself.”

“But what if it’s important?”

“If it’s so important,” Vortex pushed himself up and away, lips slick with lubricant as he looked down at the Autobot sprawled out across the medical berth, “then he can come and find me himself, yes?”

First Aid groaned and pushed his hands into his face. “I mean, no, that’s not how this is meant to work- ah!”

“So what do you do, then?” Vortex had roughly inserted two fingers, and was slowly working them in and out of his valve. First Aid whimpered and angled his hips upwards to a better angle. “If Hot Spot were to comm you whilst you were busy. What do you do?”

“We’re spark bonded, so we always have some idea of where the others are and how we’re feeling.” First Aid panted, pressure building in between his legs. “I mean, I guess we don’t right now, but-” His helm thunked down onto the berth as Vortex twisted his fingers, stretching him in new ways. “Nghh, Vortex please!”

“Continue?”

“I have an automated message! Tells you that I’m busy and where I am if it’s urgent!”

“Ho? You can do that?”

“J-” the name caught in his throat. No, no, he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. “Someone,” He corrected, “made it for me.”

“Interesting.” Vortex continued thrusting his fingers into his valve, slipping in a third and grinning widely as First Aids back arched and his thighs trembled, lubricant thickly dribbling out of him and pooling on the berth underneath him.

Vortex hummed, visor dimming. He removed his fingers, slick and dripping with lubricant, and licked them clean.

“I need to go. Duty calls.”

First Aid glared at him, sitting up sharply and feeling deeply affronted. Seriously?!

The copter laughed, leaning forwards and kissing his forehead. “Something to look forwards too, hmm? Ons tells me you should prepare to treat injuries caused by sand. Can you do that for me, little mouse?”

* * *

If First Aid was a little rougher than he needed to be when treating Vortex, well, that was _his_ _fault_.

All of the others had already been treated and had quickly left, not wanting to remain in the medical bay for longer than necessary. They all seemed to have a strange phobia of medical attention, and First Aid wondered if it was because of past experience with the Decpticon brand of medicine, or if it was a phobia all of them miraculously managed to have. Vortex, however, didn’t seem to be scared of him in the slightest. Quite the opposite, in fact, if the way he happily studied at First Aids face whilst he worked was any indication, and that he would move and stay still as and when requested, even going to far as holding panels and pieces of his own frame out of the way of his delicate little hands.

The other Combaticons hadn’t been so brave.

First Aid had been _this close_ to just sedating Brawl in a desperate attempt to do his job.

Onslaught had almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to get away, his hand tightly wrapped in bandages.

Swindle had tried to bribe him at first, until his commander had fixed him with an extremely stern look.

Blast Off? First Aid was glad his mask hid his smirk as he gently brushed sand out of the gears in Vortex’s shoulder. Blast Off made the most entertaining faces when he thought First Aid couldn’t see him.

“How did training with Bruticus go?” First Aid asked, idly tapping away on a datapad, updating Vortex’s medical file. Most of it was in the dialect spoken in Kaon, but Vortex had been happy to translate for him.

Vortex shrugged. “Same as, same as. Ons seemed real pissed off, though. I think that it was less training and more him blowing off some steam.”

First Aid hummed. “Sounds familiar. What does this mean?” He angled the pad towards him again, tapping on a phrase. Vortex leaned forwards to inspect it.

“That I’m unclaimed.” he simply responded, reclining back onto the berth with his arms crossed under his head, the image of relaxation. First Aid slowly blinked at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need more of a translation than that.”

“Eh? Seriously? You guys don’t do that?”

“Do _what_?”

“Claiming is like… marking someone as being yours.” Vortex explained, hands dancing and weaving above him as he figured out his words. “Making it real obvious that your beau is taken. Yeah?”

“Oh!” First Aid recognised the concept – in humans, he’d witnessed it in various forms of clothing and jewlery, and within his own faction too. Bands painted onto wrists, gemstone décor, and on the rare occasion that he actually got to crack open someones chest, markings on spark chambers. “We have something similar.” He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

Medical files all updated, First Aid neatly stored them away on the shelf for later. He’d have to go through them and properly update them at some point – if he was going to be staying here for the forseeable future, then he’d see to it that their medical files were in the appropriate format and properly filled. Brawl was not going to enjoy that – his was one of the least filled. And Swindle. First Aid didn’t believe for a single second that he hadn’t just paid whatever medic had completed it off to bullshit his file.

Taking a moment to consider the files, he plucked Onslaughts back off the shelf and subspaced it. His was the only medical file he trusted to be somewhat complete and mostly truthful.

“Hey, little mouse.” First Aid turned, Vortex leaning up on the berth on his elbows, and beckoning him with a crooked finger. “I seem to remember we were interrupted earlier.”

A thrill that originated from his interface array shot through the medic, straight up his spine.

Hmm.

_Revenge_.

* * *

First Aid was _in-fucking-furiating_ , Vortex had decided.

The pretty little cherry red medic had _tricked_ him. He had pushed him down into the medical berth, sending his spark into a tizzy and making his helm spin in anticipation, straddled him, enthusiastically agreed to a continuation of earlier, and yet when he’d squeezed himself down on his spike he did nothing but read that fucking medical file.

If he tried to move, he was scolded. First Aid was showing no indication that he would, either. So he was stuck.

He was warm, he was wet, and he wanted nothing more than to push that pretty little face into the berth and make him scream. But First Aid had made it clear that _he_ was in control, and Vortex hated how much he _loved_ it. His spike twitched, and he groaned, helm thudding against the pillow.

“You are intolerable.” Vortex groaned for the millionth time.

“I know.” First Aid replied, typing something onto the pad. “But you like it, don’t you?”

Baaaah. Vortex hated that. But…

“I do.” He pathetically whined, rolling his hips upwards. He grinned widely behind his mask at the flare in First Aids visor, and the tremble in his thighs. His resolve was cracking. He’d get what he wanted soon enough.

“Tsk.” First Aid tapped his chest. “What did I say about doing that?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. It’d do.

Vortex folded his arms behind his helm again, sighing heavily and staring up at the ceiling. If this was a long game, he was willing to play. After all, he could feel that someone was coming. He bet it was Onslaught.

First Aid continued to scroll through the datapad, blissfully unaware of the rapidly approaching mech. At the sound of heavy footsteps, he twitched and looked up at the doorway.

Ah. Right on the money – it _was_ Onslaught!

“Hello, Sir.” First Aid greeted him. “Is everything alright?”

Onslaught was silent for a moment, staring at the two of them, before shaking his helm and stepping into the room. Vortex felt his spark seize. No. No no no no nonononono-!

“My hand...”

“Of course. May I see?”

Vortex bit back a groan and the urge to slap his hands over his face. _How_ could his commander not notice that he was currently buried to the hilt! Unless he knew, and was enjoying it? Or had decided to totally ignore it? Behind his mask, he chewed on his lip. Primus, give him strength.

It took half of an Earth hour – half! Of an hour! - for Onslaught to finally leave. First Aid hadn’t moved from his lap the entire time – whatever excuse he gave, Onslaught had seemed to either buy it, or decided to not question it. When his footsteps receeded, Vortex had hopefully thought that First Aid would take pity upon his poor, poor soul and finally, _finally_ do more than keep his spike warm and hard.

No such luck. He had picked the datapad back up from where he’d left it on Vortex’s stomach and was back to typing away on it.

Vortex loudly swore. First Aid chuckled.

He wated him hungrily, optics roaming over his frame. Charge began to crackle between his rotors, his spark heating up and whirling in his chest. His spike twitched and pulsed, First Aid quietly gasping-

Vortex unceremoniously shoved him up and off of him, swung his legs off of the berth, and strode towards the door. First Aid felt a giggle bubble up in his chest, thinking at first that Vortex was throwing a tantrum and was storming out of the medical bay like a child throwing their toys from the pram, only for the bubbly feeling to be quickly replaced by a deep heat pooling in his belly as the Decepticon slammed the door shut and heavily bolted it on the inside, dragging the closest medical berth over to block it before turning to fix him with a heated look that promised him a most enjoyable evening indeed.

All First Aid knew was that it made him want his knees by his audials. Like, five minutes ago.

* * *

Knees by audials indeed.

First Aid hadn’t even known that he _bent_ like that.

He panted and keened, the bell on the collar neatly wrapped around his neck tinkling with every thrust that shook his whole frame. His hands clutched the edge of the berth, his face buried down into the plush pillow and his aft up. Vortex’s fingers dug into his hips deep enough to dent the metal and mar his paint, leaving streaks of grey across white and red. Lubricant dribbled thickly down this thighs, dripping onto the medical berth and Vortex’s knees.

And when he devolved into begging and pleading, moaning his name? Vortex couldn’t help but give him everything that he wanted. The copter pulled out, pausing for a moment to appreciate how the now empty valve trembled, cycling down on nothing in an attempt to entice him back in, before flipping First Aid over and pulling him up into his lap. The medic squeaked, holding on tightly as the larger mech rolled backwards to be on his back, First Aid straddling his hips.

“Have I ever told you how useful it is that you can’t overload unless I kiss you?” Vortex hummed, rubbing circles on First Aid’s hips.

“You have.” First Aid replied, bracing his hands either side of Vortex’s helm. “Many times. Do you find it fun to knock me out with a high charge?” he huffed in mock annoyance.

“The ego boost it gives a mech to knock out his partner via overload is far, far too tempting.” Vortex smirked at him, pecking him on the lips. He rolled his hips, spike rubbing up against First Aid’s aft, leaving a shiny sticky trail after it. “Can I tempt you?”

He most certainly could. First Aid wasted no time, gasping loudly as he slowly sunk himself back down on him again, hands twitching and thighs shaking. Electricity crackled in his joints, a quiet hum in the background. Vortex rolled his hips, and the medic’s visor flashed.

As fuzzy as his processor was through the high charge, First Aid still noticed the fearful look Vortex gave the locked door. He felt more than heard the mech swallow, his neck distending briefly against his lips as he kissed the hot metal.

“Open your access panel.” Vortex whispered against his audial.

“Hnnhh?”

“Your access panel.” Vortex hissed, impatient. “Quick. If Ons can tell I’m doing something I know I shouldn’t, he’s gonna be on us real quick.”

“What for?” First Aid asked, but the panel on his wrist pinged open regardless. Vortex opened his own on his chest, roughly unspooling his cable and jacking in, being much, much more gentle with First Aids. The two gasped in unison as the connection established, traces of the feeling of the other seeping in at the edges. Vortex could feel every ridge of his own spike rubbing against a node, and First Aid could feel every clench and twitch of his own valve. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and he whimpered as he buried his face into Vortex’s neck.

“You wanted a chronometer, yes? Use mine. Quick.” Vortex nudged him.

“Wont you get into trouble?”

“He only said no to you accessing your own chronometer.” He mouthed at the edge of First Aid’s jaw. “He said nothing about mine.”

“Then why are you so scared of him?”

“Shut up and use it.” The copter hissed.

First Aid pushed himself up, bracing himself against Vortex’s chest, and his visor dimmed as he took the plunge inside Vortex’s systems, seeking out his internal chronometer.

Two whole Earth months.

He’d been gone. For two. Whole. Months.

His breath caught in his throat and his engine stalled. “Is this keeping time correctly?”

“Yup!” Vortex popped the p. “Been working a charm since I was born, not lost a single second. Good, eh?”

Two.

Whole.

Months.

First Aid stared blankly into the distance, optics unfocused and unseeing. It’d been that long, and not once had his team inquired about him? Not _once_?

A hand on his cheek, gently encouraging him to look at the other mech.

“Aid?”

“I’m fine.” He instinctively replied. “Think you could manage to fuck me hard enough that I forget my own name?”

The aggressive rev of Vortex’s engine shook First Aid hard enough to knock his denta together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Con claim culture make heart go bbbrrrrrrrr  
> Sorry it took so long, I've been super duper exhausted lately.


	5. Chapter 5

Blades crossly picked at the paint on his arm, sat on the floor like a spoiled youngling behind the glowing energon bars, Hot Spot frowning at him.

“You know why you’re in here. Right?”

“Because you refuse to do the right thing.”

Hot Spot sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rushing into enemy territory – into Combaticon territory, even – is not the _right thing_ to do. It’s suicidal.”

“If you have any better ideas, I’d love to hear them.”

“I’m talking to Prowl and Optimus about it, you _know_ that.”

“And I know that Prowl keeps giving a 0% probability to First Aid being there, which is total utter _bull_ -!”

Hot Spot put his hand up. “That’s enough, Blades. We’ve been over this. The loyalty coding wouldn’t let them lie about this. We’ve studied the sample Jazz managed to swipe enough to know.”

“But we don’t have the whole thing, what if-?”

“No!” Hot Spot snapped. “Why do you insist on doing this? I’m just as desperate as you are to get First Aid home, but to do that we have to work together. This,” He gestured to the cell he was currently sat in, “is _not_ working together! And you!” He turned to the cell next door to Blades, “You are the last person I had expected to attempt this ill-guided attempt of a rescue.”

Groove lazily shrugged from where he was relaxed on the floor. “I’ve seen the footage. I’m with Blades on this one.”

Hot spot sighed and found himself rubbing his forehead again. He briefly wondered if he was polishing it to a shine. “I really, really wish you could show me this footage.”

“You could.” Blades replied, leaning forwards eagerly. “None of us would tell.”

“Oh, yes. And then I flounce up to Prowl and reveal that I suddenly believe you, I have seen it with my own two optics. And no, no, we _didn’t_ explicitly break that rule about hardlining with your subordinates. We simply briefly became telepathic. Prowl would _definitely_ buy that.”

“You think so?” Blades clasped his hands together. Hot Spot gave him a withering look.

“ _No_.”

“Damn it.” Blades slumped.

Hot Spot looked from side to side, and cast the security cameras a weary glance. If Prowl found out... “Hey. You two. Listen closely.”

Blades perked up, and Groove stilled. Hot Spot swallowed.

“Prowl’s been grumpier recently. I don’t know the details, but… I think someone missed their check in. He might have been taking you seriously enough to do some investigating himself.”

“But if they missed their check in, what good is that to us?” Blades frowned. “They’ve been captured, right? Or they’re under duress.”

“It means that we might be called in for a _rescue_.”

His mouth formed an ‘O’ shape.

“I’ll be good.” Blades promised.

“Groove?”

“I’ll behave myself.”

“Good.” Hot Spot slapped his knees and straightened. “Don’t tell anyone that I said anything, okay?”

“I tragically never learned how to hear.”

“Said what?”

“That’s the spirit.”

* * *

It had been Swindles idea.

Through is various contacts, he had come to find himself with a crate filled with human movies. Not uncommon at all – First Aid had often heard the sound of them playing from the various rooms he passed whilst he was being escorted to his cell. Some he recognised – the other mechs on the Arc also had a certain fondness for human entertainment – but others he didn’t. What was special about _this_ crate in particular was that it came labelled up with an age rating and a curious little spider sticker.

“Soooo…” Swindle had said, swirling his energon in his cube as they refuelled together. “Movie night?”

“Movie night.” Blast Off confirmed, downing the rest of his cube in one swig. “Medic, are you busy?”

First Aid glanced up at him from where he was staring into the contents of his cube, watching the light refracting off the surface of his fuel in a scattered rainbow. “Not really.” Brawl hadn’t needed him to stick his hand up into his back and remove a cactus in a few days now, he was almost starting to miss it. It had almost become a ritual for them, for him to awkwardly shuffle in, for First Aid to sigh and ask if it was another cactus. For First Aid to clamber up onto the medical berth to get the height he needed to rummage around for the prickly plant.

Brawl had so far declined his offer to keep it, and so he had a nice little growing collection on a shelf in the medical bay.

“Good.” He expertly chucked his cube into the receptacle on the other side of the room. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Will Onslaught be okay with that?” First Aid asked Vortex. The mech shrugged.

“Eh. Probably. If not, I’ll just tuck you up in bed.”

Charming.

That evening, First Aid settled down into his customary spot in between Vortex and Brawl. Swindle presented them with what First Aid recognised as a cybertronian equivalent to popcorn, and surprisingly didn’t demand that they pay an outrageous sum after their first bite.

No; it came on their second instead.

First Aid was surprised to discover that an age rating (18, he quickly discovered) and a spider was human code for _scary as shit_. He thought spiders were quite sweet little things – how anyone could be afraid of them he simply didn’t know – so the revelation was quite unexpected.

He hid his face behind his hands and leaned heavily against Vortex, peering fearfully through his fingers. At every loud noise and jumpscare he jumped and whimpered, and grimaced and wiggled in discomfort at every moment of gore. Onslaught was starting to look a little miffed.

“Come on.” Vortex quietly murmured into his audial. “Let’s go.”

First Aid obediently followed, not sparing the screen a second glance.

“They really do shelter you guys, huh.” Vortex commented as First Aid clung onto his arm, knees knocking together as they walked through the dark base. First Aid would have pinched him if he weren’t so afraid.

“I-I don’t really tend to watch horror movies. I’m usually on the night shift at work, so...” First Aid admitted. “Blades loves them, but Hot Spot isn’t a fan, so he never goes. Groove sleeps through them. Streetwise only likes them if he can hide behind Blades.”

“You’re usually on the night shift?” Vortex hummed. “Did I disrupt your pattern?”

“No. On that outpost I was the only medic, so I had to switch to a less nocturnal routine.”

“Interesting, interesting.”

A loud bang sounded above them. First Aid shrieked and jumped hard enough to smack Vortex upside the helm with his own. He whined as he shrunk down, clutching his helm. Vortex stayed frozen to the spot in surprise and slowly turned down to look at him.

“It’s just the metal cooling.” He admonished. “The desert gets real hot, you know.”

“I know, I know.” First Aid rubbed his helm where it had smacked into Vortex’s. He was certain a bump was forming. “I’m just really on edge, okay?”

“You’re so cute. I forgive you.” Vortex placed his hand on his back and encouraged him to start walking again. “But if you do that again, I’m going to have to punish you.”

First Aids fingers brushed against his collar, the little bell jingling.

Vortex found that he liked the sound.

They turned right at a junction in the corridor where they usually turned left. First Aid looked up at Vortex in confusion.

“Vortex?”

Images of him being taken to a torture chamber came to mind, to be slowly taken apart. His time had finally come – the Decepticons worst (best?) interrogator had finally had his fill of him, and he was going to be stripped for parts.

“I figure you’ll sleep a little easier with someone else.” He said, not looking down at him. “My rotors wont forgive me if I try and sleep on your bed.”

First Aid knew the struggle. Blades’ room was full – _full_ – of pillows and cushions and soft things. While in theory it sounded fantastic to recharge in there, like sleeping on a cloud, in practice it was very much the same – wildly different to what you would expect. Much like the cloud, reality was harsh and unkind. There may have been a mountain of comfort, however Blades had is sleeping arrangements situated much like a tower of cards. Every pillow and cushion supported the other, forming a perfect nest for one. Moving one disrupted the whole structure, leaving you with both a grumpy Blades and pillows digging into you in places you didn’t even know existed.

All of that effort simply to avoid sore rotors.

First Aid wondered if Vortex’s room would be the same.

Another loud bang above them as the metal cooled. First Aid flinched and his grip on Vortex’s arm tightened, but he didn’t jump.

“Good mech.” Vortex purred, petting his helm.

They continued on down through the base, the sounds of metal settling and popping echoing in the air around them. Although he’d stopped jumping at each one, his fingers still tightened around the war build and his spark would leap in his chest.

“Behold, my room!” Vortex playfully said as he suddenly threw open a door, First Aid jumping a little in surprise. He’d been so lost in thought, clinging to Vortex and begging the shadows to not move or stare back at him that he hadn’t even realised they’d already arrived.

Not that he knew where the room even _was_ in the first place, but that was beside the point.

Truth be told, the room was… not really what he had expected. First Aid wasn’t sure what he’d even expected in the first place – a torture chamber, maybe? No, no, not that – Vortex seemed to be the type to enjoy some form of _structure_ and mixing work and pleasure didn’t fit in with that (he ignored the small voice in his head that pointed out that Vortex likely very very much enjoyed his job and that he would have no problem in engaging in his work in his downtime). Maybe he had expected something… colder? More hostile?

Instead he was faced with a room that looked very much like photographs he’d seen of houses and flats on Cybertron. At Vortex’s invitation, he stepped inside and looked around, visor bright and jaw dropping behind his mask.

Comfortable. The room looked… comfortable. Cosy, even. Was it even Vortex’s room? Had he really been brought to Blast Off’s, ready to be dumped into his care?

“Make yourself comfortable~” Vortex breezed by him, the door sliding shut and quietly locking. He sat down on a chair by a table, picking up the datapad that had been left there and onlining it as he made himself comfortable. First Aid awkwardly shuffled from pede to pede before perching on the edge of the bed. A canopy hung above it, thick and heavy curtains held back with thick cord.

Soft. It was… really soft.

There were a few pillows and cushions – the bed had most of them, strewn about in a pattern that First Aid recognised and had memorised by spark, and some padded out the couple of chairs by the table.

The room itself was strangely clean. First Aid had expected some mess, some weird stains that he’d try and tell himself was definitely not energon – but no, there was nothing in the room to suggest that it belonged to Vortex, let alone even a _Decepticon_. There were _blankets_ , for pits sake! Blankets, soft and fluffy ones!

A star chart hung up on the wall. First Aid didn’t recognise the sky it depicted, but he assumed that it was the night sky Vortex had seen at home. In the millions of years since he’d last been there, it was tragic to think that it didn’t exist any more.

There was some décor in the room. Posters that one could only guess were of things that were popular at the time Vortex was in Kaon – before the detention centre, when life was simpler for them all – some featuring drinks of specially flavoured coolant. First Aid hadn’t even considered that coolant _could_ be flavoured. Pinned to the door of the storage unit were photos – First Aid didn’t dare to stand up to take a closer look to see who was in them. Vortex may scold him for being nosy.

On the table in front of the helicopter was a model solar system. He recognised one planet – that was Cybertron – and the two moons that orbited it. The rest, however, were lost to him. He swallowed and stood up.

“Hmm?” Vortex looked up as First Aid walked over to him. “Scared? You know I wont let anything happen to you, right?”

“Is this our solar system?” First Aid asked, pointing to the model. Now that he was closer, he could see that it was rendered in the finest crystal.

“You recognise it?”

“Only Cybertron.”

“Have you been reading anything Blast-Off’s given you?”

“It’s… different reading about it.” First Aid flushed. “I’m a visual learner, so...”

“Alright. Sit, sit. I’ll tell you what’s what.”

“But-?” First Aid glanced at the datapad he was holding. Vortex barely paid it any mind.

“Onslaught can wait a bit longer.”

Vortex put away the datapad and began to explain the model to him – the moons it depicted, the twin stars, their sister planets. When the best times of year to see the other planets were, when the moons were at their most visible from Kaon, the strange and frankly bizarre seasons on Cybertron and their apparent ignorance of the tilt and cycles of the planet. He even went so far as to point out where all the major city states were to him, and the state they were in the last time he’d heard of them – First Aid hadn’t _ever_ seen him talk so much.

“What?” Vortex flicked him on the nose. “You look all dreamy.”

First Aid shook his helm. “That was… really interesting. I had no idea about any of that.”

“Psshhht.” Vortex leaned back in his chair, arm hanging over the back of it. “Do they not teach you anything?”

“I know the basics!” First Aid protested. “We’re just… busy.” he looked pointedly at him. “You know. The whole war thing? Doesn’t always leave us with much time for history lessons.”

Vortex was uncharacteristically silent. His engine quietly hummed as he stared at the crystals in front of him, rotors softly clicking together as they twitched.

“I wish the war was over.” He eventually said.

That… had not been what he was expecting.

“Over?”

“Then I wouldn’t have to fight you.” He looked up at him, somehow appearing open and vulnerable even with his visor and mask in place. He reached out and squeezed First Aids hand.

“If you were an Autobot, we wouldn’t have to fight.” First Aid placed his other hand over Vortex’s, intertwining their fingers.

“If you were a Decepticon, we wouldn’t have to either.” A pointed look.

First Aid sighed and leaned forwards, pressing their foreheads together. “I was never much of a fighter anyway.”

Vortex pulled him into his lap, First Aid neatly slotting into place as if they were two pieces of the same puzzle. He wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him securely, and rested his helm against his shoulder.

“I mean it when I say that I wont let anything happen to you.”

“We tell horror stories about you, you know.” First Aid leaned back, bracing himself with his hands behind his back on Vortex’s knees. “But I’m not seeing it.”

“Ho? You do?” His rotors flicked upwards in interest. “Do tell.”

“They’re all about how _big_ and _scary_ you are.” First Aid traced patterns over his chest. “The things you do to get information, and the things you do for fun.” His hand paused over his spark, splaying out and flattening against the warm metal. “They make you sound terrifying.”

“They sound _fascinating_.” He removed his mask and pulled First Aid closer again, pressing nibbling kisses to his jaw. “Say, little mouse, are you afraid of me?”

“Not in the slightest.” First Aid lied. He leaned his head to the side, exposing more of his neck to Vortex. It took a great helping of self control for Vortex to not bite down harshly at the neck so gracefully presented to him, but he needed to be gentle right now for this to work.

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “Not even a little?”

“Maybe a teeny tiny bit.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.” Zero hesitation.

His hands dipped into the gaps of armour down First Aid’s sides as he mouthed at his jaw. The medic gasped and twitched under his hands, hips twitching and bumping Vortex’s. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Vortex’s helm, shakily removing his mask and discarding it to the side.

“Didn’t you have something you needed to do?” He thought back to the datapad for Onslaught.

“Not important.” His fingers dipped into gaps in his plating, teasing wires that he found underneath. “He’s a big boy. He can wait.”

“You shouldn’t keep him waiting too much, he gets cross.”

“You’re awful insistent for someone who’s already leaking through their panel.” Vortex tapped at his valve cover, and sure enough, fluid was already beading around the edges. Energon rushed to First Aid’s cheeks, face burning bright.

“D-don’t think too much of it!” He insisted. “I don’t want to be a distraction, please, I’m meant to be a prisoner-”

“Ah, ah, none of that!” Vortex scolded, grabbing onto his chin and forcing him to look at him. “You’re not a prisoner any more. You’re _mine_. Got it?”

First Aid stared at him with a bright visor, mouth hanging open. Tsk.

“Got it?” He repeated more insistently. First Aid snapped out of whatever he’d fallen into.

“Yes, Sir.” He breathed.

“Good.” He pressed their noses together and tapped his panel. “Now, open up.”

They popped open with little fuss, spike fully pressurising and valve already glistening wet.

Vortex swiped his thumb over his valve, relishing in the wetness before circling his anterior node.

“So cute.” He whispered. First Aid’s spike was a welcome weight in his hand as he slowly worked it in his hands, the medics thighs trembling.

He took his sweet time reducing First Aid to jelly, the mech leaking fluids all over his hands and thighs, thickly dripping down onto him. The little mech was gasping into his audial with every thrust of his fingers in his valve, spike dripping sticky fluids as it twitched and pulsed in Vortex’s hand. His visor was dim, his optics faint specks of light behind the crystal.

First Aid murmured something to him, barely audible over the roar of their fans.

“Hmm?” Vortex pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth. “Say that again?”

“Open up. Please.”

His spike was pressing insistently against his panel, Vortex belatedly realised. _How long had it been like that for?_

Kissing him to distract him, his panel sprung open and his spike extended with embarrassing speed, precum already dribbling down the length of it. The medic smiled against him, reaching in between them and taking it into his hand, gently working up and down the length and taking care to pay special attention to the sensitive spots. Vortex groaned into his shoulder, burying his face in there.

“Sir?” First Aid kissed his neck and caressed the closest rotor, Vortex pushing into the touch.

“Hnh?”

“Prove that you can spike me without acting like you’re trying to send me through a wall.” First Aid challenged as he raised his hips up, circling the head of his spike with his valve before slowly sinking down on him, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

Vortex tightly gripped the arms of the chair, metal buckling under his hands. He gritted his teeth together, fighting the urge to buck upwards and into the inviting heat.

No. He had to be gentle. _This wouldn’t work if he wasn’t_.

“Unfair.” He panted. “That’s so much to ask when you feel this good.” Vortex’s fingers ached with how hard they were gripping the arms of the chair. He experimentally rolled his hips upwards, grinding them together. First Aid sighed happily, and heat pooled in Vortex’s belly.

He licked his lips. “You know how bad I can be. Stories don’t get started from nothing, little mouse.”

“I didn’t take you to be one to back down from a challenge.”

Vortex wrapped his arms around his hips and held him close as he rolled his hips up again.

“I hate that.” Vortex didn’t sound too cross about it, though. “You got me. Don’t tell anyone I was _nice_ to you.”

First Aid never got a chance to reply as Vortex pulled his helm down to kiss him, gently grinding into him. His spike rubbed and pressed against every node, and First Aid realised that he _definitely_ would not be lasting very long with the way the mech was kissing him.

He could feel tension balled up in Vortex’s hips, the mech very obviously holding back. The realisation came with a fresh rush of heat down his spine, pooling in between his legs, and he moaned into the kiss.

Overload came in gentle waves, his hips twitching and thighs trembling. Vortex made a quiet noise as his hips jerked, a sudden warmth filling him. They broke apart, a trail of oral fluid connecting them as they panted heavily.

“Didn’t back down, did I?” Vortex swiped his thumb over First Aid’s lips.

“No, you didn’t.” His spark whirled in his chest.

The helicopter scooped him up into his arms and held him tightly for a moment before standing.

“We should go clean up. I don’t think Swindle’s going to like me very much if I ruin the pillows.”

“Why’s that?” First Aid wrapped his arms around his neck.

“The vendor’s just as bad as he is. He doesn’t like dealing with her.”

“She sounds like a treat.” First Aid laughed.

“There are two too many Swindles on this planet.” Vortex sighed.

“That’s mean!” First Aid playfully batted at his shoulder. Vortex shifted his weight to one arm as he palmed the door open and stepped out into the dark hallway. “He’s your team!”

“You’ve not had to live with him.” Vortex grumbled.

“He’s not so bad.” First Aid softly smiled as his visor dimmed. “He reminds me of Smokescreen. Kinda. A little bit. In a strange way. Smokescreen isn’t a money hound like Swindle is, but...”

“I think I get what you mean.”

The ceiling banged and popped above them, but First Aid found that he wasn’t afraid.

* * *

Vortex had taken the washrack as a perfect opportunity for rounds two and three, and by the time First Aid was back in his quarters he was half in recharge and his whole frame pleasantly ached. He silently watched First Aid recharge, sprawled out over the soft pillows. He reached out, brushing the back of his fingers across his smooth cheeks and soft, bruised lips. He felt a tug in his spark instead of the pooling of heat in his lower body that he should have felt.

He snapped his hand away.

_No_.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

First Aid was meant to be the one being affected by this – not him! The little medic currently fast asleep in his bed, lulled into recharge by promises of protection and soft touches with lips slightly parted and curled up around a large pillow, was supposed to be the one becoming dependant on him!

_He_ was the one who broke people.

_He_ was the one who manipulated people.

_He_ was the one who knew every trick in the book.

So why was _he_ the one falling for it? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a big fan of horrors – they rely so much on jumpscares I just don’t enjoy them. I want to actually be scared, not shocked!  
> A big thank u to My G, you know who u are, for your enthusiasm. It was very inspiring.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is like… twice as long as a usual update would be… I hope this helps make up for my irregular ass updating schedule.  
> I also haven’t proof read this – I’m just yeeting it into the void and hoping it’s fine, even caffeine isn’t taking the edge off of how freakin’ tired I’ve been lately. I sure hope I’m not getting sick again. That’d really suck.

It was quite nice to not have to spend time buffing himself out and popping dents, truth be told. His frame still felt pleasantly heavy as he sleepily rolled over.

The space next to him was ice cold, and undisturbed. Did Vortex not recharge?

He suddenly sat up, blanket sliding from his shoulder.

The curtains had been drawn whilst he was asleep. He reached forwards and slowly pulled them back, peeking out into the room before he committed and opened them fully.

“Vortex?”

No response. There was nobody else in the room with him.

He slid from the bed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders to protect him from the cold, and looked around for any sign of a note or a message – anything to suggest where he had gone.

Nothing.

Huh.

Alone and emboldened, First Aid slunk over to the storage unit to where the photographs were pinned. Looking from side to side, double checking that he really was alone, he leaned in and took a closer look.

The Combaticons, huddled together in what looked very much like a college football team group photo. Arms slung over shoulders, leaning into each other, visors warm. Swindle was actually smiling – not the weasel like smirk First Aid knew him to have, but an actual, _genuine_ smile – and Blast Off was allowing the corners of his lips to twitch upwards. With a pang, First Aid thought that it reminded him of Ultra Magnus.

None of them wore the Decepticon insignia. Pre-war, then. Pre-uprising, at least.

More photographs. More of the same. The team together, some photographs consisting of just a teammate, or of people First Aid could only assume were once friends or lovers. It made Vortex look disgustingly human.

But, First Aid thought as he placed his hand on the corner of a photograph to straighten it out to get a better look, it reminded him that Vortex wasn’t a bogeyman. That yes, while he did and was fully capable of truly, truly horrific things, underneath that cruel exterior he was the same as everyone else. A mech who cared about his team, and his friends, enough to have photographs of them specially printed and stuck to the outside of his storage unit where he’d always be able to see them.

The final photograph was just a bit bigger than the others and it grabbed his attention instantly. It was higher up than the rest, and he had to stand on the tips of his pedes to get a better look at it. Maybe if he were Vortex’s height, he’d be able to see it better.

First Aid could only guess that they’d been at a park of some kind, for Vortex was in the midst of flying off of the swing the moment the photograph was taken, a blur of pinwheeling arms and a smear of bright red visor. Brawl was grinning at the camera, blissfully unaware of the helicopter that was currently heading straight for him like a missile. Onslaught was behind the swing, hands reaching up to his face in surprise. Swindle watched the scene with a huge grin splitting his face, optics sparkling in glee. Blast Off was nowhere to be seen – perhaps he was the one who had taken the photo.

The medic snorted in laughter, and for prosperity, took a capture himself of his visual feed.

His tanks sent him a polite ping informing him that he needed to refuel. He held his hand to his midsection and turned to the door.

Fuel. Yes. That was a good idea. Vortex often left his morning ration in the medical bay for him – Onslaught was often too cranky in the morning for him to either allow First Aid into their messhall with them, or he was in a mood where Vortex frankly ‘didn’t want him turning his ire towards his cute little medic’, or so he said.

The door opened before him with just a brush of his hand and First Aid sucked in a deep breath, staring out into the empty hallway. He could do it. Just one foot out. He could do it. He could do it.

The dark expanse of the hallway made him feel sick and dizzy, and his tank churned with anxiety- what if Onslaught found him? He stepped back, and took a deep breath.

It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He would just step out, and confidently walk to the medical bay. Where he belonged. He was a medic, right? They’d captured him for his services as a medic. So he would act like one.

The blanket slid to the floor as he confidently stepped out.

* * *

“You left him unattended?!”

Vortex glanced up at Onslaught, apathy bleeding through his field.

“Yeah?”

“Are you thick?!” Onslaught tapped his helm. “Are you damaged?!”

“He wont do anything.” Vortex sniffed and poked at his breakfast in disinterest. He was too tired for this shit. “He’s tame.”

“How do you know that?”

“Previous experience.”

Onslaught huffed and crossed his arms under his chest. “And in your quarters?”

“There are some lovely, lovely photographs of us lot before the war.”

“Making us look all soft and cute?” Swindle teased, counting stacks of human currency. Vortex snapped his fingers and pointed at him.

“Bingo!”

Onslaught slammed his hand down on the table, causing piles of coins to fall over and Swindle to squawk in protest. He glared at Vortex, annoyance and frustration pulsing in his field.

“That old rust bucket wants us over on the Nemesis. I will _not_ be having this nonsense. We can’t be seen to be playing house with an _Autobot_.”

“I’ll just take his badge off, easy.” Vortex shrugged. “It’s okay, I’ve got this handled.”

“Do you, though? Because I don’t think that you do.”

“Hey,” Swindle interrupted what was to become a most impressive argument. “Where are Brawl and Blast Off?”

Medical bay was the answer.

“Brawl, this is so unbecoming of you!” Blast Off scolded, holding him still as First Aid quickly took an energon sample. “It’s just a little needle! You’ve had so much worse!”

Brawl was valiantly fighting against the restraints. First Aid had gotten the drop on him, and before he knew it he had been restrained to a berth. First Aid would later insist that he had tried to be peaceful and talk about it first, but Brawl would venomously deny it. Blast Off had heard the commotion on his way to join the trio downstairs and had curiously poked his head in.

“There, that’s it! That’s all I wanted!” First Aid quickly stuffed the sample into his subspace before a flailing limb could knock it to the floor… _again_. “If I release the restraints, do you promise to not hit me?”

“I make no such promises!” Brawl spat. First Aid sighed and rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry, I really had to do this.” He tried again. Brawl had refused to listen the first… _countless_ , times he had tried to explain. “Your medical file is so incomplete, I’m just trying to help you – if a medic in the future really messed up your repairs because the important bits aren’t on file...” He bit his lip behind his mask, hoping Brawl understood.

Blast Off was looking at him strangely. First Aid did his best to ignore it as he looked imploringly at Brawl.

“… _Fine_.” He spat. “Untie me. I want to go.”

The medic didn’t hesitate. “Make sure you fuel up properly, okay?”

Brawl made a non-committal sound as he rubbed his wrists, sitting up and swinging his legs off of the berth.

“Do you need a sample from anyone else?” Blast Off asked in disinterest, looking at his claws.

“Hmm...” First Aid tilted his helm in thought. “Swindle. I don’t believe for a second that his medical file is genuine. Part of it mentions him being a jet, for example. And probably Vortex.”

“I don’t imagine that you’ll have much trouble with him.” Blast Off muttered. “Swindle may be more difficult. You’ll have to bribe him.”

“What kind of thing does Swindle like?”

“Drugs. Alcohol. Money.”

“Oh, Primus.” First Aid rubbed at his face again. His mask was in the way of him pinching the bridge of his nose, but the energy was there. “Okay. Thank you.”

“And myself? Onslaught?”

“Your files seem to be the best and most complete. Onslaughts is so nice! Whoever did his medical was really thorough, the style of it is so familiar too. I really want to know who wrote it.”

“It probably is familiar. I believe we stole it from you when he had been captured for a time.”

First Aid stood up straighter. “Oh. Yes, well, that would explain it then.”

“Indeed.” Blast Off sniffed. “Well, then. I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yes! Thanks for your help.”

First Aid watched him leave, and found himself wondering – not for the first time, far from it in fact – what the current state of medical care was like in the Decepticons. He flicked through the medical files, hunting for names. Maybe they’d left signatures in the metadata, _something_ that would give him names. _Anything_.

He only found Ratchets name. In Onslaughts file.

No wonder it had been familiar.

An unsettled feeling weighed heavy in his tanks. Where… where were the medics? A base like this should have at least had _one_. But given the state of the medical bay when he’d come in, their… frankly _pitiful_ medical files, and the quick looks he’d managed to get under their plating after the sandstorm training?

First Aid could only come to the conclusion that the last time they’d actually seen a medic must have been at the detention centre.

* * *

Vortex was acting weirdly.

He _had_ been very obedient and didn’t fight back at all when First Aid took an energon sample from him. But he also wasn’t looking at him, and wasn’t bothering him with his usual chatter or wildly inappropriate groping.

It was… unnerving. Really, really unnerving.

Vortex had his back to him as First Aid checked over his rotors, measuring them and making sure it matched his file. Usually, he would have leaned into his hands by now, engine purring loudly like a spoiled house cats and making a crude comment about where his hands were.

The mech hadn’t opened his mouth. Not a single sound.

First Aid frowned and put the datapad down. He circled the medical berth, and came to a stop in front of him. Gently taking one of Vortex’s hands into his own, he began to closely inspect it.

“Our hands are pretty similar, you know.” First Aid began. He gently pushed a finger back, exposing the delicate cabling underneath. “Sensitive. Good at the little details.” He slid their palms together, barely holding back a shudder. The tips of his digits slid across the delicate cabling in his wrist, and he heard rotor blades tremble. “You should take good care of them, make sure that they last.”

“What are you up to, little mouse?” Vortex asked, voice strained.

“You’re acting weird.” First Aid slowly traced patterns on his palm. “Got a lot on your mind?”

“Not really.” Vortex lied.

First Aid hummed.

“I need your help with something.” He said, still tracing patterns on his palm. “Can you help me?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to hold Swindle down for me.”

“What, you want to fuck him?”

“Oh- ew, no! I mean- no, no. I need an energon sample.” He paused for a beat. “Wait, what kind of response is that?!”

“How much are you willing to pay me?” Vortex ignored the question.

“I didn’t have any credits on me when you captured me, you know that. I don’t have anything to pay you with.”

“Ah, a shame indeed.”

“Is he really that bad?”

“He bites. He bites really hard.”

“But his teeth are so... blunt!”

“He’s got fangs on him. And technique.”

“Is the big bad wolf afraid of him?” First Aid teased. “I thought you war builds had thicker plating than that.”

“I am very afraid of him.” Vortex leaned back, resting on the palms of his hands and locking his elbows. “Thick plating means nothing to those teeth of his.”

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me? One evening, I’m all yours?”

“I cannot believe you’re bribing me with carnal pleasures. It’s working. Go on.”

“You can do some fucked up shit to me.” First Aid leaned in closer, pushing Vortex’s thighs apart and resting his knee in between them on the medical berth. “I don’t care if I bleed. I don’t care if you make me scream. I’m willing to do _anything_ to get that energon sample.”

Vortex’s engine loudly revved, and his hands shot out to tightly grip First Aid’s hips. He was clearly very, _very_ interested in what his medic had to offer.

“Why do you care so much about it? You do know how fucked up I am, yes? You have _no idea_ what I could make you do. Is it really worth it?”

First Aid drummed his fingers on his chest. “Your medical files are some of the most incomplete I’ve ever seen. I... I want to fix them. I’m your medic, aren’t I? It’s only natural that I want to know what condition my mechs are in.” His hand splayed out, pressed flat on his chest, and his other snaked up to rest in the crook of his neck. “If I want to be your medic, I need to know what I’m working with.”

The wave of possessiveness that rolled across his sensors almost took his breath away. He looked up from Vortex’s chest to his face. Two bright beacons of light shone like stars behind the red visor.

“He has something I needed to pick up from him. I’ll take you with me when I go and collect it.”

First Aid beamed at him.

* * *

“Payout.” Vortex panted, energon bright and dripping down his arms. “ _Now_.”

First Aid fumbled with the sample in surprise, stuffing the still-warm container into his subspace. “Right now? But- but you’re bleeding, you’re hurt – I’ll fix you first-”

“You’re not getting out of it that easily.” Vortex stalked forwards and grabbed him by the back of his neck. Swindle wheezed from the floor, muttering madly to himself as he rolled over and pushed himself up.

“You!” Swindle pointed at First Aid, rubbing his arm where he’d been pricked with a needle. “You are a _menace_!”

“ _I_ am trying to help!” First Aid crossly retorted. “Why are you all like this! It’s just a little energon sample! You’d think I’d just cut off your arm!”

Vortex watched the two in a manner very akin to one watching a tennis match.

“May as well have!” Swindle moaned as he rolled his shoulder. “What did you even _do_ to me?!”

“I told you thousand times, I just took some energon.” First Aid pathetically wriggled in an attempt to free himself. “You should trust your medic more!” And stay more still, he thought to himself. If he’d been still, he wouldn’t have had such poor aim.

Swindle barked out a laugh. “Trust? Medics? Fat chance!” He stumbled backwards, hands searching behind him for a door handle that was too far too the left. “You’re all a bunch of Autobot scum! Pathetic little simps for the _righteousness of the council_. You’re brain dead if you think otherwise.” He tapped his forehead. Vortex’s engine snarled.

First Aid rapidly looked in between the two. Vortex was trembling with barely restrained energy – the heat rolling off of him only just registered, as worked up as he was, and First Aid quickly realised that he had one of two choices. One: let Vortex work off that energy by beating the everloving shit out of his teammate. Two: let Vortex work off that energy the way god intended by rearranging the everloving shit out of his guts.

“Did you get all worked up thinking of what you were going to do to me?” He whispered into his audial. The copters rotors twirled upwards and loudly clattered back down again.

His hand stretched out towards Swindle, palm facing upwards. “Package.”

Swindle peered behind him, noticed that he was too far to the right, and quickly sidestepped towards his door, flinging it open and disappearing inside.

“Finally stopped stalling?” Vortex asked.

“I wasn’t stalling!” First Aid protested. “I’m very much looking forwards to what you have planned for me.” Vortex’s engine gave a pleased rumble, and his grip on the back of his neck relaxed. “Swindle was just being a pain.”

“No kidding.” Vortex deadpanned.

Swindle re-emerged with a rather sizeable box. He dumped it on the floor a meter away from them and nudged it towards them with his foot.

“Here ya go, all accounted for! Checked it myself.” He proudly said. “Please, for the love of Primus, let me get to the other side of the base before you get started.” He pulled a face. “I do _not_ want to hear that shit.”

Vortex unceremoniously flung First Aid over his shoulder, the medic loudly yelping, and hefted the box up.

“Thanks, Swin!” He cheerfully replied, happily trotting away. First Aid pushed himself upwards and waved at him.

“Thank you for your cooperation!” He waved.

Swindle gave him the finger.

… Yeah, he totally deserved that.

* * *

Vortex had, graciously, let First Aid patch him up when they were back in his quarters.

The box sat innocently in the corner. The copter could tell that his little mouse was curious, but that would be a surprise treat for later – he was far, far too worked up right now. He had to get this _right_. If he pushed too hard, too far, then the medic would think twice about making those same promises again. He didn’t want the medic having to second guess his thoughts and actions around him. Uncertainty lead to distrust, and distrust would destroy everything he had worked so hard to build.

First Aid was sticking his tongue out in concentration as he carefully applied sealant, not wasting a single bit. Vortex tilted his helm as he watched him.

Cute. So, so cute.

No wonder he’d fallen for his little tricks. Who wouldn’t?

He had decided in the medical bay that he didn’t _care_ that he’d gone in too deep. It would simply necessitate a change in plans, that was all, and so far the new one was looking even _more_ appetising than the last.

So what, he’d gotten a bit more attached to the medic than he had planned. No matter. If anything, it was an asset – genuine feelings _always_ improved ones acting. If you hated someone, it was easier to hurt them. If you loved someone, it was easier to brush the backs of your fingers gently across their cheek and absently draw patterns upon their frame. If you hated someone, it was a simple matter to turn that hatred into passion. The line between the two was thin and often blurred; deciding which side that you stood on was a simple matter of perspective.

The medical kit snapped shut. First Aid went to place it on the shelf, tucked away and out of trouble. Vortex leaned into the palm of his hand and watched his aft and thighs hungrily.

Oh, he was going to eat this one up. He’d already decided which side of that line he stood on – now it was time for First Aid to make his choice.

“Aid?”

“Mmhm?” The medic perked up and trotted over, sliding into his lap. Vortex shifted his legs to better accommodate him on the small chair, but even then the medics legs still had to swing upwards over the arm.

“I’m gonna need you to think of a word for me.” Vortex drummed his fingers on First Aids hip. “Something easy to remember.”

“What for?”

“We need a safe word.”

“Safe word? Humm...” First Aid tapped his chin in thought, leaning his helm against Vortex’s shoulder. “Something easy to remember?”

“Easier the better.”

“How about ‘Vortex’, then?”

“My name?”

“You _did_ ask me to call you Sir.” First Aid sat up straighter. “Humour me?”

* * *

And humour him he did.

Having his little mouse sitting in his lap, looking oh so very pretty with his collar and eager optics did absolutely fuck all for his self control, and what better way to start their evening with the medic on his knees showing him what he could _really_ do with that mouth of his?

First Aid circled his tongue around the head of his spike, lapping up the fluid that beaded in the slit. One hand pressed into his hip joint, massaging sensitive wires, while the other firmly stroked his spike. He dipped his head down, taking in at much as he could, massaging the underside of the spike with his tongue and gently sucking on the tip.

Vortex groaned and his hips twitched upwards, bumping his spike against the back of First Aids throat. The medic sounded like he had tried to gasp and he choked, swallowing hard and balling his hand into a fist, tightly clenching his thumb to the palm of his hand. Still, he continued on, like the little trooper he was. Vortex was _so_ pleased. He reached down and rewarded him with a hand to his cheek, thumb gently rubbing the metal.

First Aid peered up at him and winked.

Establishing limits had been fun. Frankly, his little medic had very few and they could easily be summarised: anything involving his spark was strictly off limits. Vortex could deal with that – he had already counted on First Aid not wanting him anywhere near anything as precious as his spark. That was okay. There were always other times. The medic hadn’t mentioned anything else, but Vortex already had an idea of where the lines were, and hadn’t made any plans to cross them.

His little mouse had been more involved than he had anticipated. Not long after he’d dropped to his knees, he had paused in thought and asked if hand signs were also acceptable in communicating his wants and needs. After all, if his mouth was preoccupied, how would he tell him he needed to stop? That had pleased him immensely, and they had decided on a simple hand sign. One flash of that, and everything would stop, no questions asked.

And it was with that in mind that Vortex snaked a hand to the back of First Aid’s helm and pushed his spike in deeper. The medic moaned, sending perfect little vibrations up the shaft, and Vortex loudly groaned, optics glued to his face. He rolled his hips, pushing his spike in deeper bit by bit, First Aid moaning and choking around him, hands gripping at his hip plating. One snaked down his front, heading towards the heavily leaking valve that was making a mess of those pretty white thighs. Now, he couldn’t be having any of that, could he?

“Hands up here, sweetspark.” Vortex pulled the medics hand back up. First Aid whimpered, but did as he was told. Ugh. Vortex rolled his hips and started when his spike seemed to hit a wall, First Aid choking hard and his hands twitching, almost in the position of the hand signal that they’d given. Vortex paused and began to pull away, already thinking of other, equally as fun things they could do, when First Aid grabbed onto him and held him in place, one hand going behind his helm to fiddle with the collar.

Oh, of _course_. The _collar_. It was tight enough to not leave room for him – how silly of him. He leaned forwards and easily removed it, the collar sliding down and landing on the floor with a clatter and a tinkle of a bell.

Before Vortex even had a moment to settle himself back down the medic had suddenly taken him to the base, lips kissing his hips, and swallowed. Vortex’s optics went white, helm thunking against the back of the chair, and his engine _roared_.

“Frag, _yes_!” He hissed, holding his little mouse’s helm in place and shuttering his optics, focusing on the sensation of First Aid’s throat clenching and choking around him. Fuck, it felt _good_ , too good even. A warning flashed up on his HUD. He’d overload more quickly than anticipated if he kept this up. Apparently his scuffle with Swindle earlier was enough to get his engine really going – he really, really needed to get out more. Primus, when did he become so _easy_?

He gently pulled out, First Aid relaxing and taking a deep breath as soon as he could. His fans were working hard, the little mech panting heavily, and he looked up at Vortex with the prettiest blue optics. His spark and lower abdomen clenched in unison. _Ugh. So cute_. He slowly slid back in again, testing the waters, before committing and slowly pulling out, teasingly… and ramming back in again.

First Aid, to his credit, didn’t bite down even though his jaw clenched in a way that suggested that was his first instinct. Oral fluid gathered at his lips and ran down his chin, and coolant pooled in his optics. His thighs twitched and pressed together, his hips jerking. Warnings flashed up on Vortex’s HUD – overload was imminent. Ah, such a shame.

He could feel it, tightening in his stomach, and he pulled out just in time for thick streams of fluid to spurt out over the medics face. He groaned, watching it fall on his cheeks in thick lines.

First Aid licked his lips, humming in approval. Vortex’s engine turned over and he felt his spike twitch in interest.

He tucked it away and closed his panels. No distractions. Now, it was his little mouse’s turn.

Taking a cleaning cloth from his subspace, he wiped the mess from First Aid’s face. As fun as it would have been to clean it up with his tongue, he knew that it was a sure-fire way to get him all worked up again, and he wanted to focus on the cherry red medic kneeling down in front of him first. He needed to wait. He needed to be patient.

He slid down to the floor, pushing the chair back and kneeling down in front of him. A thumb was pressed into his mouth, First Aid quickly lavishing attention on it with his tongue, and his other hand reached down in between his legs. First Aid loudly moaned, thighs spreading as a dark grey hand dipped in between them, fingers sliding through the slick mesh.

“Wow,” Vortex teased, lips brushing against the side of First Aid’s helm, “You’re so wet. Did you like that?”

“Yes, Sir,” First Aid nodded, “I did.” He shuddered and shivered, clutching to Vortex like a lifeline.

“Would you like to overload?”

A nod.

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Yes, please!” First Aid gasped, pushing into his hands and rubbing his anterior node against the palm of his hand with a fresh gush of fluid, thighs shaking with the effort of keeping him upright. Vortex slowly slid two digits in, working the metal of his valve, and then a third. First Aid was a mess, gasping and panting and moaning, and the floor wasn’t fairing much better either. _Mess mess mess, what a_ _mess_. “Sir, please, it-it hurts-”

He roughly kissed him, punctuating it with a rough thrust of his fingers, and First Aid came apart in his hands.

Vortex stroked his back as his medic came back, fans roaring and chest heaving. He had collapsed down to the floor, his legs giving out.

“Good?” He asked.

“Very.” First Aid breathlessly nodded. “Very good.”

“Tsk, what a mess you’ve made.” Vortex slowly withdrew his fingers, First Aid biting his bottom lip and shuttering his optics as he leaned into it. Thick, sticky strands of lubricant connected Vortex’s hand to the medics valve, and the floor glistened.

“Hmm?” First Aid looked down, and immediately flushed bright red. “Oh. _Oh_.”

He had been fully intending on mocking him, teasing him about being such a leaky faucet and ruining his pristine floor, but his reaction was oh so sweet and his spike was twitching in interest behind his panel. No, no, teasing him would just work him up too – he had to make this work. He had to be patient.

“That’s alright though, sweetspark.” He took his jaw into his hand, thumb pressing just below his bottom lip to force the medic to look at him in the optic. “I forgive you.”

The medic whimpered.

“You want to know what’s in the box?”

“I do, Sir.”

“Go open it.”

First Aid gingerly got to his feet, legs wobbling. He walked as if his legs were made of wood, ungainly and oh so very endearing. It did _wonders_ for Vortex’s already humongous ego. The medic fell to his knees by the box, still not in enough control to smoothly descend down, and carefully opened it. Inside were individually wrapped packages, each in a different colour. He looked in curiously, and turned to Vortex.

“Pick one. Any one, doesn’t matter which.”

He had asked Swindle to find him some fun new toys for him to use with First Aid. Swindle had looked disgusted, but presented him with a fifty page catalogue filled with all kinds of things despite his distaste – _how_ Swindle had found people willing to _make_ the stuff he didn’t know – or how he’d managed to find suppliers on _Cybertron_ , even – but Swindle always delivered. It had taken a lot of bribing to get him to agree to wrapping them all up in fun, bright colours too. Vortex was pretty sure that he had enlisted the help of Brawl to keep him sane.

The medic pulled out a lime green package. Vortex had no idea what was inside – Swindle hadn’t bothered to tell him – but he could take a guess given its long, relatively thin shape. He slunk over to the bed and patted the mattress beside him. His medic was much more confident on his feet, his pace much less wooden as he came over to join him.

Vortex took the package from him and placed it onto a pillow, turning his attention to the sticky mess on his medics thighs.

“Here, hold still.”

He ran a cloth over the messy thighs, taking care to linger in the sensitive areas. The medics breath hitched, his still exposed valve quivering, and his fingers dug into the blanket.

Even after months of being around him, of being used to him and used by him, the medic still responded so, so sweetly, and it was music to Vortex’s ears. He pressed kisses to the metal, and First Aids legs opened just a bit wider. Tracing a line of them up his thigh, he kissed either side of First Aid’s valve and relished in the whine he made, wriggling his hips and trying to get Vortex to pay attention to it. But he continued to ignore it, kissing down the other thigh and nuzzling into the warm metal.

“Sir?” His medic was tense.

“Little mouse?” He purred, peppering kisses on his thighs. First Aid trembled, legs clenching as if desperately wanting to pull him in closer.

“What’s in the box?”

Ah, yes. That lime green package.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

He finally – finally! Pressed a kiss to his valve, and his medic gasped. For good measure, he gave the steadily blinking anterior node a lingering kiss and pushed himself up, settling down beside him and presenting him with the package.

“Open it. It’s for you.”

“For me?” He picked it up. “It’s not going to be something weird, is it? Like… a human ear or something.”

“You watch far too much TV. Besides, ears aren’t that romantic.” Or that size and shape, he silently thought.

First Aid was curious by nature, and carefully unwrapped it. A long, slim box was revealed, and he carefully opened it.

A metal rod was inside, thin and straight. At the top was a metal loop. Overall, it looked very simple yet sturdy, and he wasn’t entirely sure what it was for.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Oooh, nice!” Vortex cooed. “That, sweetspark, is a sound.”

“A sound?” He carefully inspected it. “I didn’t know this is what they looked like, I’ve only ever heard about them.”

“Interested?”

“The others wouldn’t ever let me do this.” First Aid’s optics were bright, suddenly realising the full extent of the opportunities that were before him. “Anything that could hurt us was off the table. They didn’t want to have to explain it to Ratchet. Or Grapple and Hoist. I’m still learning, so...”

Vortex thought the pain was the best bit, but he knew that his methods weren’t exactly conventional; he always, _always_ went for something that was guaranteed to hurt him. His little mouse, however? He wouldn’t allow _that_. He knew that his little mouse wouldn’t like it.

“I’ll go slowly. Unless you’d rather pick out something else?”

“No. I want to do it.” First Aid was looking straight at him, directly into his optics. “If I don’t like it, I just have to say Vortex.”

“My name, and it all stops.”

The medics spike housing opened and his spike extended. Vortex grinned hungrily as he looked down at it. First Aid tilted his helm at him. “Well?”

Vortex pulled a bottle of lube from under the bed, and squeezed a generous helping out into his hand. He handed the sound to First Aid. “Get a feel for it. I had it custom made for you.”

“For me?” First Aid held it almost as if revering it. He held it between his hands, shifting them up and down as if getting a feel for the weight of it. “Really?”

“I think mine might be a bit _much_ for you, sweetspark.” Vortex replied, liberally applying the lubricant to the head of First Aids spike, taking care to ensure at least _some_ went into the slit. “That, and it’s nice to have your own things, isn’t it?”

His medics hips twitched upwards, his fans clicking on and his teeth biting his lip.

Vortex held out his hand for the sound. His medic handed it back, and watched it with bright optics. The copter placed it to the side again, and pulled the medic into his lap, holding his back against his chest.

“Comfortable?”

His medic wriggled around a little finding a comfy spot and finally settled, leaning back against him. “Comfortable.”

Vortex picked the sound back up, and made a show of thoroughly lubricating it. His little mouse shivered and pressed back against him more firmly.

“It’s going to feel strange.” Vortex purred, right into his audial. “Try and stay as still as you can.”

“Yes, Sir.”

A lube stained hand pressed against First Aids stomach, holding him close in a comforting gesture. First Aid immediately went to hold onto his hand and grasp his elbow, optics glued to the sound.

Lips brushed a cheek, and the medic relaxed a little.

The rod was gently nudged in, and First Aid’s fans stalled.

“Oh, _wow_ -” First Aid choked. When Vortex made no move to push it in further, he took a deep breath and did his best to relax himself. It felt… strange. Strange, but not _bad_. The opposite, in fact.

“Talk to me, pet.”

“I’m fine.” He reached up and hooked his arm around Vortex’s neck, cradling the back of his helm. “It doesn’t hurt.” He took another deep breath. “Please?”

Vortex rubbed his thumb against his stomach as he slipped it in further, watching First Aid’s face like a hawk.

The fun thing with Autobots was that they just didn’t know how to school their emotions, to turn their face into a blank mask. The only Autobots Vortex knew who didn’t have their hearts on their sleeves were the Special Operations mechs, and that weird monochrome Praxian who tried too hard to be a law abiding citizen. Decepticons, on the other hand, tended to be a bit harder to read. So, with that in mind, Vortex knew that if he wanted to see how his little mouse was doing, all he needed to do was to watch his face.

And his little mouse was doing very, _very_ well indeed.

Every wince had him gently pulling up and pausing for a moment to give his medic time to relax before he pushed it back down again. Every gasp was an encouragement, and it was these encouragements that allowed the sound to hit the halfway mark.

Vortex kissed and nibbled his neck, gently bouncing it, before suddenly pulling it upwards. First Aid cried out, back arching, and trembled like a newborn lamb. Vortex smirked against him, sucking on some choice cabling, before the ragged panting registered. He pulled back in alarm.

His medic was crying. Full on _ugly_ crying, he believed the human phrase was. “Oh-oh, Primus, Aid?” Despite himself, he could feel panic starting to prickle around the edges of his mind. Had he hurt him? Did he fuck up?

“Please don’t stop,” First Aid gasped, clutching to him like a lifeline. “If you do, I think I may actually die.”

“You’re crying?” Vortex sounded absolutely perplexed.

“Because it’s _good_! I can feel it, here?” First Aid’s voice was thick as he tapped his chest. “It’s so good I can’t stand it. And if you don’t get that thing back down again my tears will be the _least_ of your problems.”

It was extremely difficult to take him seriously given the fat tears that rolled down his cheeks, but he obliged all the same. Vortex held him more tightly and pushed it back down again, the medic mewling and straining to keep himself still. He dug his fingers into Vortex’s plating, pressing his helm against Vortex’s, and exhaled shakily.

Further and further down the rod went, First Aid moaning and falling apart with every movement. His fingers scratched the metal, and if he had claws Vortex knew for certain that he’d be leaving more than scrapes. His valve was leaking liberally, slickening his hips and clenching down on nothing.

His spike was pressing painfully against his panel, begging to be released, but Vortex ignored it. The pain was simply _delicious_ , and what was more fun than that?

The sound reached as far as it would go. First Aid was gulping for air, trying desperately to cool himself down, and stared at his stuffed spike with static filled optics. Vortex stroked his abdomen, and nuzzled the side of his helm.

“Feel good?”

“I,” His little mouse panted, “I feel really full. It’s good. It’s really, really good.” He melted back against him, pressing his face into the underside of his chin. “I feel really close.” He breathlessly laughed.

A hand wrapped around his spike, and First Aid sobbed. An experimental rub. First Aids hips jerked upwards and he made the most perfect sound.

“Nngh! Oh, shit- Sir, I’m going to overload, please please _please_ -” He groaned and threw his helm back, back arching – Vortex had swiftly removed the sound, and there was nothing stopping it now. His little mouse loudly cried out, whole frame shaking with the force of it, his plating clattering together, and a thick stream shot out and up his chest.

Vortex’s panel popped open despite his best efforts to stop it, spike jutting out and rubbing incessantly against his medics valve. First Aid moaned, and immediately adjusted his hips, slowly sinking down on his length. Vortex tightly gripped his hips, engine roaring. Primus, if this wasn’t a test.

He held on tightly, keeping First Aid in place. He gritted his teeth, shuttering his optics as he sucked in a deep breath. Control. It was all about control. The valve pulsed and squeezed, a wet, warm, delicious heat. It was okay. He could deal with that.

Until his medic wiggled his hips, and all attempts at decency were launched out of the window.

He picked First Aid up effortlessly, the medic squeaking at the sudden loss, and slammed him back down on his front, aft up and pushing his face down into the mattress before suddenly ramming into him. His medic moaned loudly, hands flailing before tightly gripping the edge of the bed, whimpering as Vortex squeezed his fingers around his neck.

He pounded into him, hips snapping against him, and his hand slowly released his neck to snake down and grip tightly to the edge of the bed, hand in between both of First Aid’s. His other arm wrapped tightly around him, hand splayed across his chest, and he bit down hard on First Aid’s neck. The medic sobbed, hands scrabbling to clutch onto the one gripping the mattress, and pressed his face down into the plush surface to muffle himself.

More. More more more, he _needed_ more – he wanted _everything_ , This wasn’t enough. He bit down harder, First Aid crying out. Heat rolled through him, his insides burning in a need he couldn’t put a name to. It frustrated him to no end. What was this medic doing to him?

Overload brought him no clarity. His little mouse moaned as he was filled, the thick spike pushing out the excess fluids. His spike hit something deep inside, and the medic tensed and groaned, valve fluttering and squeezing in what was unmistakably another overload.

Huh. Had he broken him?

First Aid snorted in laughter.

“Maybe I can only cum when I cry now.” He joked, pushing himself up and peering back at the Con.

“That’s no skin off my back. You’re real pretty when you cry, did you know that?” Vortex crooned as he pulled out. First Aid flattened against the bed, wincing as he rolled to the side.

“Really? And I’m not otherwise?”

“Pssht.” Vortex pinched his cheeks and playfully shook his head. “Everyone knows mechs are prettier when they’re covered in fluid.”

“Does that make me a masterpiece?”

Vortex looked down at the medic. Huh. He was absolutely covered in fluid – some dried, some fresh, and all of it theirs.

A trip to the washrack wouldn’t be amiss. And perhaps a quick change of the bedding, too. Swindle wouldn’t be too pleased with him. Onslaught was going to be so disappointed, too.

Not that he felt bad about it. Quite the opposite, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone bet me that I wouldn’t write sounding. They now owe me £5. Best £5 I’ve ever earned! I’ll just ignore that I now cannot look anyone in the eye ever again.  
> I am absolutely motivated by equal parts spite and praise. It earned me enough to buy some chicken nuggets though, so can’t complain!

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I’ll just make this a oneshot. Just one thing.  
> Also me: *Makes a long ass notes document and slowly realises that this is going to be another multi-chaptered beast god damn it why am I like this*


End file.
